Emerald Hill, Book One
by BrightSongBird
Summary: Here's something new: Harry Potter fanfiction that has nothing to do with Harry Potter, nor with any other people or places created by Rowling. This is an exploration of the American wizarding system as created by me. Enjoy.
1. One

This is the picture of a ten-year-old boy: ankle-deep in a sluggish creek in some nameless stretch of Appalachian woods, faded jeans rolled up above muddy knees, grass stains on a white t-shirt, and, beneath a Red Sox cap, eyes alight with simple joy at a bright salamander curled in a pool of mica-flecked water in grubby hands; evening at the height of summer with red sunlight filtered through restless leaves, a mother's voice floating over a split-rail fence, bare feet in the grass and slapping on the boards of a porch.

"Oh, Luke." His mother straightened, wiping her hands on her apron and frowning. "How do you manage to get so filthy?"

And then he opened his eyes.

The shadowed ceiling mocked him with its strangeness; a week was not long enough to adjust him to the change. The sheets of the bed smelled of flowery detergent and the room was oppressively hot, even in the small hours of the morning as the dew lay thick on the sill of the open window. A boy who at the age of ten had already experienced the worst day of his life rolled onto his side and closed his eyes again, trying to recapture that final sweet evening, but the memory roiled like smoke in his sleep-drugged mind and evaded capture. He concentrated instead on the slow and steady breath of the other boy, a dim figure across the room.

The morning came with perfect omelets and pleasant conversation. The other boy watched Luke over the rim of his glass of orange juice, grey eyes solemn, and Luke pretended not to notice. The two older girls, their shoulders freckled by the summer sun, squabbled over the last of the toast but quieted at a gentle word from their mother, who paused to give Luke a kind smile as she fed the baby. The father read the newspaper and talked about work in cryptic terms Luke did not understand, and did not try. When breakfast was through he wandered onto the back porch and leaned on the rail, watching the motes dance in the beams of heavy morning sunlight in the little, half-overgrown garden already ablaze with the day's approaching heat.

The other boy had followed him. They had spoken very little over the past week, Luke out of apathy and the other out of shyness, but the other was a curious and friendly boy and, for lack of experience, did not understand the mechanisms of grief. "Wanna go find frogs?" he asked, and Luke could hear him shifting his weight back and forth.

Luke hesitated. He would have much rather sat in the rocking chair and watched the day pass, but he had been doing a lot of that lately and knew that his new caretakers, though striving to be understanding, were concerned. He had a vague notion that they might take him to what his brother called a _shrink_ if that concern became too great, and since the last thing he wanted was to be forced to talk about his feelings, at last he shrugged and said, "Okay."

The other boy's name was Jackson. He was small for his age, which was eleven, with large eyes and large ears and a lot of brown hair that his mother kept very short. His feet, however, were small, which he pointed out to Luke as they walked through the garden. "Dad says that means I won't get very tall," he said, making it sound like a lament. "Do you want to be tall?"

Luke shrugged again. He had not thought about anything so mundane in over a month.

A large field stretched behind the house, too big and unkempt to be called a yard but not given any particular purpose. The yellow grass was almost as tall as the boys but Jackson had made several trails through it, meandering footpaths that made the way much longer but passed by several landmarks of interest. Jackson took Luke to the aptly-named Big Rock, upon which they climbed to look back at the house across the sea of grass and wild berry bushes, and then past the bank with the hole where the foxes had lived the previous spring, and to the dead tree with the knothole where the raccoons hid their treasures. From this they recovered several plastic beads, a spoon, and Jackson's lucky rabbit foot, and in the triumph of that discovery Luke even smiled, surprising himself. The air was hot and hazy, heavy with the scent of earth and summer blooms, but the air lightened as they passed beyond the curtain of shade cast by the woods.

Jackson kept up an effortless lighthearted chatter as they walked; he seemed to believe that a barrier had been breached and was coming into his own. Luke was quiet, following the other's confident steps along the obviously well-used trail, every now and then reaching out to brush a finger along a leaf or through a patch of moss, pausing to look up at the canopy of branches with the sunlight speckling his face. It was a nice feeling, walking through the empty peace of the trees with Jackson, almost enough to make him forget that he was in mourning. As he was wondering whether or not thinking about forgetting his mourning counted as thinking about it, he glanced up at a flash of movement, and was so startled that he tripped.

"Oh gosh," said Jackson, jogging back to him and plopping down onto his knees. "You okay?"

Luke had scraped his elbow and brushed away the dirt as he sat up. Tiny dots of blood were seeping through and he blotted them distractedly on the leg of his jeans, looking intently into the branches. "Did you see that? Where did it go?"

"See what?" Excited at the mystery, Jackson joined in the search. "I didn't—"

"It was a big owl. Over there."

The effect of this statement on Jackson was electric. To Luke, seeing a healthy owl in flight at midmorning was odd; Jackson, however, gasped so hard that he choked and fell backward, only to scramble coughing to his feet. But he was not frightened—his face was alight, large eyes bulging larger still with wild hope. "Was it carrying anything?" he asked, staring at Luke intently.

"Um," said Luke. "I dunno. What do you mean?"

"Never mind, come on!" When Luke did not move Jackson seized his arm and hauled him to his feet. "Come on, back to the house! I mean...I'll race you!" And he took off, kicking up dead leaves beneath his ratty old sneakers, disappearing through the trees.

Luke was mystified. Up to this point Jackson had been polite and friendly but not extraordinary, and this sudden outburst marked the first time that Luke had been genuinely interested in anything since his mother's death. He jogged back along the path, taking only one wrong turn in the maze of the field, and came through the screen door into the kitchen just in time to see Jackson's bright face fall into despair, a change so dramatic it was almost comical.

"What...what..." gasped Luke, clutching the stitch in his side.

"It was nothing," said Jackson's father, patting his son on the shoulder as Jackson flopped into a chair. "We raised a baby owl last winter, and Jack thought it might have come home."

Jackson glanced up at him and nodded, but appeared too devastated to speak.

* * *

It was not until after lunch that Jackson recovered enough to venture outside again, and though he spent the entire trip scouring the trees (and fiercely denying that he was whenever Luke pointed it out), they made it to the creek. It was a twisting band of quick-running water between steep inclines, rocky with pools of various sizes and only fifteen feet across at its widest point. Luke at last managed to distract Jackson by asking about snails and they had a very productive afternoon of wading through the creek, pants rolled up past their knees, turning over rocks to find the tiny snails that Jackson called periwinkles (a name previously unknown to Luke), collecting them in a shallow sandy pool for no reason other than that they could. At one point Jackson uncovered a crayfish and they filled the woods with their shouts and squeals, each yelling for the other to grab it but neither brave enough to chance the grip of the two-inch-long claws.

Altogether it was the first day since he had come to this place that Luke could actually call good. Jumping through the creek, soaked and muddy, he felt almost at home, and it was nice to have someone there with him. Once engaged with the snail-hunt Jackson appeared to forget entirely about his disappointment over the owl, and Luke envied him that ability; he wished he could forget his disappointments so easily. Jackson was mercurial and dynamic, living entirely in the thrill of the moment, and despite all the differences between them, as they sat among the ferns with their feet trailing in the cold water and Jackson chewed on the stem of a wild onion, Luke decided that he liked the other boy.

The next few days were much the same, long and hot and full of the structureless adventure that lends itself so well to the imaginations of children. They stalked garter snakes in the tall grass, screaming when they came suddenly upon the creatures and trying without success to pin them beneath forked sticks. They went with the mother into town for grocery shopping and wandered the store by themselves, flinging loose coffee beans over the aisles as they searched out the items on the coupons the mother had clipped from the newspaper. On a rainy day they built a fort out of the furniture in the den and excluded the sisters until the mother scolded them, and all four of them slept in a pile of blankets and pillows until wakened by the lightning, whereupon they sat awake with flashlights, whispering and pretending to be unafraid until exhaustion overtook them. And the boys spent a lot of time down at the creek, building a dam that the rain washed away, searching endlessly for the crayfish (which they named Big Bob), climbing trees and digging holes and forging new paths into the wilderness.

There were days in which Luke even forgot that he was in mourning, moments in which he felt like a part of the Parker family, though it always frightened him to realize that he had felt those things. He did not want to forget what he had left behind.

* * *

_Dear Mark:_

_Things are okay here in Kentucky. I miss our house, but the Parkers are really nice and there's a boy here named Jackson who's my age and we do stuff together. There's a creek down in the woods and a hole in a tree where the raccoons hide the things they steal. How is college? Did you find a good job yet? You know if you ever want to go home, even if it's not our home, this place is nice and the Parkers would be happy if you came. You could have my bed. Maybe for Christmas? Write me back so I know you're doing okay. Oh and Jack wants to write something._

_Hi Mark! Luke is great! We're best friends now! Come visit so you can teach us the yoyo trick Luke talks about! Bye!_

_Anyway. Write soon._

_Luke_

* * *

It was on the evening of the day that marked the end of Luke's second full week with the Parkers that everything changed, profoundly and permanently.

Years later it would occur to Luke to think about that change, the suddenness with which his life—and, indeed, his entire worldview—was so drastically altered. At the time it was the shocking newness that most affected him, but once he became experienced with the change he would realize that it was more like the way in which a caterpillar becomes a butterfly, a metamorphosis from the life he had taken for absolute into an entirely new mode of being.

This change arrived in the form of nothing so dramatic as its consequences; it arrived in plain black ink.

It was a dinner like any other, barbecued chicken and vegetables from the garden. The sun was setting behind the trees and the house was in shadow, under a curtain of deepening twilight while the treetops across the field were still blazing gold in the sun's last light. Luke was facing the screen door that led out onto the back porch, sitting across from Jackson, and as he passed the bowl of peas to the other boy amid the happy babble common to the family at mealtime, he noticed something.

"Um," said Luke. At once the room fell silent, and though the adults looked merely solicitous the children were obviously astonished that he had spoken; for all his increased involvement in the family, Luke was a quiet boy and did not often contribute to conversations. For a moment Luke forgot what he had been going to say, startled by their goggling stares.

"Yes, Luke?" asked the mother.

Luke blinked, then pointed at the window. "Jack, is that your owl?"

Every head turned, and for a few seconds they were all still, matching the intent gaze of the golden-eyed owl perched on the porch railing; the only sound was the baby gurgling happily as she slapped at the peas on her tray. Then Jackson leapt from his chair as though catapulted, the father pushed to his feet, and the sisters started gasping and talking loudly. Jackson flung open the screen door and the owl sailed in as though it had expected nothing less, settling on the back of Jackson's vacated chair. Tied by a string to its left leg was a large envelope.

The father fumbled with the string, his eyes almost as large as Jackson's, and as he lifted the envelope something else fell down into the chair, but he did not notice; he was too busy shouting in unrestrained joy and lifting little Jackson into his arms. Jackson clutched the envelope like a lifeline as his father swung him around, his mouth opening and closing without a sound. When he was released he dodged around the table, skidding on the linoleum, and held the envelope in both hands before Luke's face. _Jackson Vance Parker_, it read in black calligraphy, _1430 Sundown Lane, Vicksburg, Kentucky_.

"What is it?" asked Luke, feeling left out.

"It's my _letter!_" yelled Jackson. Luke had never seen anyone quite so elated, much less over an ordinary-looking letter. The father was already rattling off a list of people he would have to inform and Jackson was showing the envelope to his sisters, who looked just as happy as him.

Just then, as Luke was trying to assemble in his mind the pieces of this strange puzzle, there was a touch on his arm and he turned toward the mother. "It was carrying this, too," she said quietly, with a strange little smile.

She was holding an envelope.

It was identical to Jackson's except that the stark black ink on the front read _Lucas Alan Baxter_ in place of _Jackson Vance Parker_. Luke took it and frowned, for the envelope was not made of normal paper but rather some thick, slightly textured material like parchment. He turned it over. On the back was a wax seal like something out of the Middle Ages, and the stamp was a crest, a shield on which was imprinted a rearing horse with wings and the letters E on one side and H on the other. He ran his thumb over it gently, with a strange sense of unreality as though realizing that he was in a dream.

"Hey Luke, what's that?" asked one of the sisters. The others froze, staring, and silence fell.

Luke shook his head rather absently, still looking at the seal. "It's for me."

Jackson came toward him slowly and Luke showed him the front of the letter with his name. Jackson read it three times, the third time out loud, and though Luke would not have believed the boy's eyes could have gotten larger, they did, until they looked ready to fall from his head. "You got a letter," he said simply.

"Yeah, I guess so," said Luke, and looked around. "What does that mean?"

"You're going with me!" cried Jackson, his voice cracking with shrill emotion. "That's your letter! You got a letter! We'll go together! You and me!"

He grabbed both of Luke's arms and pulled him up, dancing with him on the kitchen floor. The father was beaming, the mother's smile had widened into an expression of pure delight, and the baby was adding her happy squeals to the general din. "Going where?" asked Luke loudly, to be heard, as he was pulled and bounced around by Jackson. "Where are we going?"

"Emerald Hill!" said Jackson breathlessly, gripping his letter with one hand and Luke's arm with the other, tightly enough to hurt. "You and me, Luke—we're going to Emerald Hill!"


	2. Two

The attic was stuffy and hot, but it made no difference. The father climbed between the large mounted head of a whitetail deer and an old wardrobe with a broken mirror to throw open a little round window, and perched on a dusty old cardboard box; Jackson sat on a rickety three-legged stool and Luke dragged up a beanbag with a hole that was slowly trickling its contents onto the board floor. They had left their dinner unfinished and come straight up here, without even opening their letters, and Jackson ran his fingers along the envelope and across the seal with quick, fidgety motions, watching his father intently.

"You'll have to be patient, Jack," said the father with a smile. "Luke doesn't know anything about this, remember. Now, Luke, tell me." He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, studying Luke kindly. "Did you ever do something...strange, or special, something you shouldn't have been able to do?"

Luke was sitting quietly with his letter balanced on one knee. Part of him wanted to just get to the point of this, but he had a feeling that this was much bigger than an envelope. _E_._H_., he thought. _Emerald Hill_. He sighed and tried to think. "I'm...not sure what you mean."

"Okay. Here's an example. Delia, the baby—just a couple months ago, there was a storm and she got scared, and all the lights in the house turned on."

Luke shook his head, wary. "No...I've never done anything like that."

"Well, that's fine—neither has Jack. That's why we didn't know, until..." He looked at his son with pride shining in his face, and Jackson clutched the letter to his chest.

"Mister Parker," said Luke, "can you tell me what Emerald Hill is?"

"Yes, of course. It's a school."

"Oh." This seemed anticlimactic. Luke had no problems with school—he had always rather enjoyed it—but he could not imagine a free spirit like Jackson getting so excited about it. "What kind of school?"

The father's reply was a question, and Luke almost did a double-take, certain that he had misheard. But the man repeated the same thing: "Luke, do you believe in magic?"

His initial inclination was to reply _Of course not_, but he froze with the words on his tongue, looking at their expressions. The father was eager but calm and quite serious, and Jackson's face was filled with open expectancy; Luke knew in a second that both of them quite literally believed in magic. Fear fluttered briefly in his mind but he pushed it away—whatever else they might be, the Parkers were not crazy or evil. Something bigger was afoot. So he chewed for a moment on his lower lip, and then answered honestly: "I don't think so."

The father nodded, smiling. "Fair enough. I have something to show you." He bent over and hooked a finger into a knothole in the floor, and pulled up a board that was on hidden hinges. In the small hole was a box, about a foot long, made of dark shining wood. The father picked it up and wiped it almost tenderly, though Luke could see no dust, and opened it to reveal a stick. To Luke it appeared nothing more than that, a narrow bit of wood tapering slightly to the end, smoothly shaped and polished, but when the father lifted it from the box he recognized it at once, if only by the way it was held.

"A wand," he said aloud, without meaning to.

The father's smile widened to a grin. "Exactly."

He moved the wand in a particular sweeping motion, his eyes big and bright as he looked at Luke, and then Luke gasped, clutching at his stomach, for it felt as though an enormous air bubble had filled his body. He was rising, the beanbag creaking and spilling more of its innards as his weight left it, and then he was hovering in the air unsupported with his toes dangling. He pinwheeled his arms to keep from tipping over, but then the father twitched his wand and Luke moved a few feet to the left, falling to the right from the momentum and turning a slow somersault until he was hanging completely upside-down, staring bug-eyed into Jackson's face as the other boy cackled in delight.

The father lowered Luke gently back to the beanbag and he scrambled to sit upright again, breathing heavily. The father was still grinning. "Levitation spell," he said. "You'll learn the basics of that one in your first term."

"I, uh..." Luke shook his head, a little frightened but much more interested. "So what are you, some sort of wizard?"

"Yeah!" cried Jackson, apparently too excited to hold his tongue any longer. "And so are you, Luke, and me, too! Emerald Hill is for training, it's where we go to learn how to do all the spells!"

The father was nodding. "It's true, Luke. Go ahead and open the letter."

Jackson tore into his with great enthusiasm; Luke peeled open his envelope carefully, a little sad that he had to destroy the lovely seal, and pulled out two sheets of the same thick paper from which the envelope was made. He unfolded the first sheet to see a paragraph written in the same black ink and careful calligraphy as his name and address. "Read it aloud," said the father.

Luke cleared his throat. "_Dear Master Baxter_," he read. "_Let me be the first to welcome you to the rest of your life! It has come to our attention that yours is a very delicate situation—the Emerald Hill staff offers its condolences on your terrible loss_. _ But be assured that your enrollment at Emerald Hill is in good standing should circumstances enable you to attend, which is, after all, strongly recommended for a wizard your age_. _ We hope that you shall elect to join us this autumn and for the autumns to come! Enclosed is a list of items you will need to purchase in Dragontooth Square, New York, before the term, and a ticket for your transportation from that city on the twenty-fifth_. _ Please tender your reply by August fifteenth_. _Again, welcome, and the Emerald Hill staff wishes you all the best for your education and life_. _Signed Cynthia Redding, Assistant Principal, Emerald Hill Academy of Magic, Red River, Wyoming_."

"Gosh," said Jackson, "mine doesn't say all that."

"Your mom didn't die," countered Luke automatically, but immediately regretted it, not wishing to make either of them feel guilty on his behalf.

But Jackson simply shrugged, with a philosophical air. "That's true. Look at all the stuff we have to get!" He lifted the second sheet of paper from his letter and Luke looked at his own as Jackson happily read the items aloud—robes, textbooks with strange titles by authors with ridiculous names, a cauldron, a wand, various obscure animal parts listed under _Chemistry Supplies_, and more in this vein.

"This is so great." Jackson was completely enraptured. "Dad, did you tell Uncle Heath?"

"I had your mother send him a note," said the father. "I wouldn't be surprised if he comes over tonight."

Luke tucked the list and letter back into the envelope. "Is he a...a wizard, too?"

"He sure is!" shouted Jackson; enthusiasm tended to add several decibels to his voice.

The father smiled. "He's Mary's brother, and he's a chemistry professor at Emerald Hill. You'll be having classes with him."

Just then voices could be heard downstairs, and the father stood. "In fact, I think he's just arrived."

"Oh boy!" Jackson leapt to his feet as though propelled—he seemed to have this talent, and Luke could not understand the mechanics of it—and dashed to the head of the stairs, promptly leaping from the top step. There was a loud "Oof!" from the stairwell, and a new voice greeted Jackson with warm affection.

Luke stood, feeling rather nervous. It had been a confusing evening, and he was not at all sure what to do with a man who was apparently a teacher at a magic school, and what's more, a magic school that Luke was apparently to attend. The father stood beside him, which made him feel a little better, and the celebrated uncle mounted the last of the stairs, depositing Jackson on the floor before stepping fully into the room.

"Hey, Lionel," he said. "Good to see you. So this is Lucas?"

"It sure is. Luke, meet my brother-in-law, Heath Lunsford."

Though he was only ten, Luke was familiar enough with the customs of tact to at least attempt not to stare. He tried to concentrate on the man's other features. Lunsford's relation to the mother was immediately apparent in his slim build, wavy brown hair, and wide grey eyes, but he looked a good deal older, his fine-featured face lined, the hair streaked with grey at the temples. He was dressed rather fantastically in dark grey robes, the kind that Luke had only ever seen on the covers of the fantasy novels his older brother had so enjoyed.

Lunsford smiled—or tried to. "It's alright," he said. "We'll get along much better if you go ahead and look. I got it when I was a teenager."

Despite the permission, Luke still felt like a trespasser as he finally allowed his eyes to settle on the scar. Lunsford's face, almost delicate in other respects, was shockingly marred by a sharp downward pull to one corner of his mouth; it looked puckered as though from a bad wound poorly healed, and the scar wandered its way down to his chin, permanently twisting the right half of his mouth into a terrible frown. "Sorry," Luke muttered, looking away again.

"What for?"

Luke paused, and had to shrug. "I'm not sure."

"Then don't be sorry." Lunsford's voice was very kind, and he spoke with a certain deliberation that Luke supposed was from training himself to speak normally despite the scar. "I hear you got a letter today."

"He did!" cried Jackson, seizing Luke's arm and raising it so that the letter, still in Luke's hand, could be seen. "We're both gonna go, Uncle Heath, isn't that the best?"

"It's wonderful." The lines at the corners of Lunsford's eyes crinkled when he smiled. "I'm so proud of you, Jack. I can't wait to see you in my class."

Jackson flushed with pleasure, hanging onto his uncle's hand. "Luke's never heard of magic. Not till today. Did you know that?"

"Your mother mentioned it." Lunsford gave Luke another shockingly lopsided smile. "I'm here to help answer your questions about Emerald Hill, boys. I'll be taking you to Dragontooth, too, since your dad has to work, Jack."

Once they were all settled, Lunsford—who took the three-legged stool as Jackson shared the beanbag with Luke—handed Luke a folded paper. "Find Red River," he said.

Luke unfolded what he saw was a map of Wyoming. "Where is it?"

"In the Grand Tetons—northwest."

Luke leaned over the map as Jackson watched with interest, tracing lines and names with a finger, but at last had to give it up. "I don't see it."

Lunsford tipped a finger toward him. "Exactly."

"But it's a real place, right?"

"As real as New York and Vicksburg," replied the father genially. "But it's hidden. Kept secret by some pretty powerful spells."

"Why?"

Both the adults and Jackson looked surprised at the question, which made Luke defensive. "Why hide a city?" he insisted. "Who are you hiding it from?"

Lunsford leaned forward with a piercing gaze, and spoke very quietly. "Tell me, Lucas... Until you received your letter, until today, did you have any idea whatsoever, even the slightest inkling or hunch, that magic—real magic, witches and wizards—actually exists in the world?"

Luke paused to consider. He had read as many fantastic storybooks as any other child, including several on the subject at hand, but he had always been more attracted to the physical world than to fanciful stories. The possibility that such things might _truly_ exist—bubbling cauldrons and muttered spells and magic wands—had never so much as entered his mind. They were just stories. "No," he replied honestly.

Lunsford sat back, looking satisfied. "And that is exactly how we want to keep it. Not for you, of course, but for the Muggles."

"Muggles are people without magic," the father put in. "Like Mary and the girls."

"A very British term," Lunsford said. "A lot of them are, the terms we use, because the British Isles were the foundation point for organized magic. Druids and all. The very first wizarding schools were founded there, though of course none of the originals are still in use today."

"How many schools are there?" asked Luke.

"One per country is the rule among the more developed nations, or one per region if several small countries agree to combine their students. There have been attempts to grant schooling rights at the state level here in America, but they've never gotten far. Emerald Hill is too established, too successful." He shrugged. "I'm personally all for a new school or two in the country, but for now there's just the one."

"One school for all the...magic students in America?" Luke frowned. "Isn't it crowded?"

"There are currently fourteen thousand, one hundred thirty-two students enrolled for this academic year, or term, as we call it. Counting you."

"Oh. I guess I expected more."

The father smiled. "So do most people. You might not expect it—and most of us don't like to openly admit it—but for our size America has relatively very few wizards and witches. There are all sorts of theories, of course, but it's an unpopular subject."

"So how do you keep a place like that hidden?"

"For the first part," said Lunsford, "it's well back in the mountains. Secondly, like Mr Parker said, it's guarded by some very powerful magic. Hundreds of years of spells are woven over and through that place. And this is your first lesson." Lunsford's face grew solemn, accentuated by the droop and twist of the one side of his mouth. "Secrecy, Lucas and Jackson, is the highest priority of the wizarding world. Take that to heart."

Jackson nodded, but Luke hesitated. "But...why? Couldn't wizards help the world with their magic?"

"_Our_ magic," said Jackson.

Lunsford smiled briefly at him. "Muggles have an intense fear of magic. You've heard of Salem, right?"

Luke's mouth tightened. _Of course_. "The witch trials."

"Very good. Now, you seem to me like a very mature young man, so I'm going to speak to you plainly. To reveal ourselves would throw the Muggle world into panic, hysteria. Those who wouldn't want to kill us would seek to capture us and exploit our power for their own ends. Pet wizards on leashes."

Jackson shuddered, and the father and Lunsford looked so severe that Luke looked away for a moment, abashed, his mind searching rapidly for a graceful change of subject. "So...do all of these students meet in New York? Wouldn't the, uh, the Muggles notice?"

"Well, first-term students are required to take the flight from New York as part of the orientation process, and it's recommended for those in the second term. Beyond that there are set windows during the summer for the different turns to do their school shopping in Dragontooth, and they usually use Floo powder to get to a station near the school. Floo powder, by the way, is how I got here—turns fireplaces into transportation. Really neat stuff, though it does backfire when one's destination is boarded up."

"How many years of school are there?"

"Seven," answered the father. "Seven is the standard set by the Yamp."

"The what?"

Both of the adults chuckled, but it was Jackson who replied: "The International Association of Magic-Practicing Peoples," he said proudly. "I.A.M.P.P. Yamp. Get it?"

Luke grinned. "Who's in the Yamp?"

"Why, the magical leaders of every magic-incorporated nation on earth," said Lunsford. "A very impressive gathering."

"So...we have a president of magic?"

"Sure do. We call him the First Wizard, though. Joel Perlmutter has been in office for six years now."

"Does the real president—sorry, I mean the Muggle, President Ford—does he know about this Perlmutter?"

"Yes. The only open contact between our worlds is at the presidential level, and that's pretty much the rule everywhere."

"Doesn't he tell anyone?"

"Who would believe him?" Lunsford winked, and Luke had to smile. "But yes, in seven years we transform kids like you into fully-fledged witches and wizards."

"What are the classes like?"

"You'll be in a class of about fifty, if all goes well. The student body is divided firstly by term—you two are first-terms—and secondly by color. There are roughly two thousand students in each term and seven colors, which gives you about two-ninety of each color in each term. With me so far?"

Luke nodded, and glanced at Jackson; though the other boy seemed familiar with the topics, he was concentrating very hard on every word his uncle said.

"Now, almost three hundred is way too much to put in a classroom, so there's one more division—first term, then color, and finally herald. There are six mascot animals associated with Emerald Hill—kitsune, unicorn, phoenix, sphinx, gryphon, and dragon. So divide six into about three hundred, and that gives you about fifty. You have all your classes with your specific group for the first four terms, but you also get plenty of time to mingle with the rest. And of course, in the upper terms the groups break down, and you just take the classes that are important to your future job."

"How are colors and animals chosen?" Luke asked at once.

Lunsford grinned, and the effect on his warped mouth was at once charming and ghastly. "That, Lucas, is one of Emerald Hill's several claims to international fame. The gates choose your color, and the animals choose you themselves. Don't try to figure it out, just wait till you get there. It's really great. I think the British school has a similar system—something with a charmed hat left by one of the founders."

"And you and Mr Parker both went to Emerald Hill, right?"

"Sure did. We were both silver sphinxes, actually—that's how we met. We were roommates."

"Neat." Luke was enchanted. "Cindy Redding signed as the assistant principal. Who's the principal of Emerald Hill?"

"Mister Gerald Zander."

Luke frowned slightly, noticing Lunsford drum his fingers once and look away as he said the name. "Don't you like him?"

The father grinned, and Lunsford smiled a bit sheepishly. "Principal Zander and I...don't get along. But I don't want you to make any snap judgments about him—some people think he's the neatest thing since sliced bread. He's a politician, that's all, and you can't please everyone."

"Yeah. So, what kind of stuff do you teach kids like us?"

Lunsford, looking relieved at the change of subject, held up a hand and ticked off the subjects on his fingers. "First-term students take Botany, for one...Chemistry, History, Charms, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Beginning Flying. Pretty heavy load, but there are fewer classes once you get more specialized in the upper terms."

"I didn't understand those last four at all." Luke did not want to admit it, but the words _beginning flying_ had made his heart leap.

"Charms is a very diverse branch of magic—almost any physical reaction you could think of, in a person or an object, can be brought about with a charm. You'll start out with very simple stuff—light levitation and such. Transfiguration I'm sure you'll like, it's a fascinating subject—turning one object into another. Defense is just what it sounds like. But every first-term's favorite subject is beginning flying, for obvious reasons. But you don't know anything about it, huh?"

Luke shook his head, self-conscious at the admitted ignorance but too engrossed to particularly care.

"I'm sure you could guess."

One of the professor's eyebrows twitched and Luke sensed a gentle challenge. For the first time, he felt certain that he liked Heath Lunsford. "Brooms," he said.

"You bet!" cried Jackson, and Lunsford's askew smile widened.

"Brooms really fly?"

"They certainly can. Only specially charmed brooms of course, not any old thing. When the Yamp came up with the list of qualifications that every witch and wizard must possess at graduation, they put intermediate flying skills on the list. Some schools require you to take flying all seven years, but Emerald Hill says you don't have to continue after your third term unless you want to."

"Does the school give you a broom?" Luke leaned forward eagerly.

"We have roughly four hundred beginning brooms in stock, yes. But you can't keep them, they belong to the school."

"How much does a broom cost?"

Lunsford laughed. "You're getting ahead of yourself, Lucas. Learn to fly first! They cost a lot, but you won't need your own during school unless you want to be on a Quidditch team."

The word dangled in front of Luke, begging to be investigated, but he almost didn't take the bait. One glance at Jackson, however, was enough to convince him—the boy was a coiled spring, trying desperately to keep his naturally exuberant and inquisitive nature in check to allow Luke to learn. "Okay, I'll bite—what's Quidditch?"

"Oh, nothing, just a sport played on broomsticks." The father's eyes shone. "It's really exciting even at the school level, but you should see professional teams play! You'll learn all about it at school."

Lunsford raised a hand. "There are more pressing things to discuss, unfortunately. Lionel, do you know if Helena had a vault in Heartstone?"

The father nodded. "I don't remember the number, but yeah, she did."

"Who's Helena?" asked Jackson.

The adults looked at Luke, who felt a sudden lurch in his stomach. "That was my grandma's name," he said, very quietly.

Lunsford leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. "She was a witch, Lucas."

A shiver ran down Luke's spine. "How do you know?"

"She went to Emerald Hill, of course," said the father. "My mother had classes with her. I met your grandmother a few times, and your parents...I even saw you once, when you were just a baby. How did you think you ended up with us, anyway?"

He was smiling, but Luke was stunned. "I...I don't know. I didn't think about it."

"I know it's all quite a shock," said Lunsford. "But your grandmother had a vault at the wizarding bank in New York. You being her heir, on the magical side, whatever is there is yours." He frowned slightly, the expression exaggerated by his scar, and then shrugged. "We'll talk to the Heartstone employees and see what we've got, Lucas, but it'll be an interesting situation if you can't pay."

"What—they wouldn't kick him out, would they?" Jackson leaned forward, alarmed.

"No, of course not, he's already enrolled, and his family has a history there. But we want to avoid debt if we can, right?"

For a few moments they were quiet, and Luke tried to sort through the glut of information he had just received, with no success. "So," he said at last, "my grandma was magic...but not my parents, or my brother. Why me?"

"That, Lucas, is a question to which we have no answer yet," said Lunsford gently. "There is certainly a hereditary component to magic—I mean, children of wizarding parents are more likely to be witches and wizards—but there are many cases of children being born with magic whose families have absolutely no history of it. And sometimes children of two wizarding parents are born without. It's really not possible to predict, especially here in the States."

"But doesn't it hurt families, when some are magic and some aren't?" He looked at the father. "Won't your daughters be jealous of Jack?"

"It does hurt some families," said the father. "It's easier when one parent is magic and the other isn't—like with me and Mary. I think they are a little disappointed that the baby is showing signs of magic, but they're good girls and I know they're proud of Jack. I've always been open with my kids about what I am—it's a secret we all keep—and they've all known, even Jack, that magic might not be for them."

"Maybe Maggie and Rachel can come visit me at Emerald Hill sometime," said Jack. "Can't they? You said you could take us all to Dragontooth."

Lunsford's brow puckered. "Emerald Hill is a different story, Jack. It's generally not allowed, and I don't like to pull strings because of my position." Jackson's face fell, and Luke could see in Lunsford's eyes that he hated that disappointment. "But maybe in a few years we'll see what we can do. Okay?"

"Okay." Jackson was placated, his face clearing as though the clouds there had been chased away by the wind. "We're going tomorrow, right?"

"Right. We'll leave mid-morning—whenever you two are ready. You have until the twenty-fifth to get your school supplies, so there's no big hurry."

-

The boys finished their reheated dinners, Jackson chatting happily all the while. He continued chatting while they brushed their teeth, chatted while he stumbled around the bedroom pulling off his jeans, and chatted while he lay on his back in bed, arms folded behind his head, eyes misted over with the romance and wonder of it all. Luke followed in silence, letting Jackson's happy voice flow over him without finding purchase, and lay in silence after turning out the lights.

_Dear Mark_, he thought, _today I found out I'm magic_._ I'm going to a school for wizards_._ I know it's weird_._ I hope you're not mad_. _ I guess there's a whole world full of people like me that we didn't know existed because—_

"Luke—hey!"

He jumped, coming back to himself. "What?"

"I asked if you're excited."

"Oh. Uh...yeah, I guess so. It's a lot to think about."

"Yeah." There was a pause. "Do you think you'll be good at it?"

"What, magic?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know."

"I hope I am. Dad was really good, you know. He doesn't even have to say the words when he does the spells." Jackson sighed. "I hope someday I'm as good as him."

In the darkness, Luke smiled. "I think you will be."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Another pause. "Thanks, Luke."

"Mm."

"I think you'll be good, too."

"Why?"

"Dunno. I just think so."

"I guess we'll see."

"Yeah."

As he drifted toward sleep, Luke wondered what kind of crazy dreams he would have.


	3. Three

His knees buckled when his feet touched down, and he promptly fell over. There was a burst of laughter seeming to come from all directions, but Luke was too dizzy to make out particular faces. Nevertheless, he was collected enough to recognize the laughter as good-natured and even managed a rueful smile as he was hauled to his feet and brushed off by complete strangers.

"First Floo trip?" asked a middle-aged woman whose face came into focus as Luke concentrated. She wore long robes like Lunsford's, but bright green in color.

"Ye—," Luke replied. He was trying to say _yeah_, but at that moment the man on his other side grabbed his arm and pulled sharply, and Luke turned in time to see his Jackson stumble out of the large fireplace coughing and sputtering. He kept his feet, however, and grinned at Luke as he wiped a smudge of ash from his cheek. He was followed shortly by Lunsford, who swept from the swirl of green flames with perfect grace and composure, and rid his robes of the soot with a single fluid shake. He was greeted with shouts of recognition and shook many hands among the throng surrounding the Portal.

Lunsford had told Luke of the Portal in Dragontooth, but Luke was much more impressed with the reality than the description. Eight spacious fireplaces, constantly stoked, were arranged in an octagon carved intricately with fantastic creatures and magical feats, with large raised dishes of floo powder on either side. From each fireplace rose a pseudo-chimney, covered in mosaics of tiny colored stones, curving to the center of the octagon where a large golden torch burned continuously above all with the brilliant green Floo-flames. It was situated in the precise center of Dragontooth Square, which was indeed a square of perhaps four city blocks to a side, a winding maze of buildings; the Portal, the only way of entering the Square, was supervised by wizards and witches in green robes, to whom belonged the woman who had helped Luke to his feet. Luke stepped closer to the fireplace out of which he had fallen, and ran his fingers over the white marble carving of a rearing unicorn with rubies for eyes.

"If you like that, you'll love Emerald Hill," said Lunsford from behind him. "It's famous for its stonework."

Luke stepped back again and looked around. The throng impeded his view, but the glimpses he caught through the streams of people were tantalizing—the word Cauldron in a shop window, a teenager carrying a large stack of old- and expensive-looking books, a mother flicking her wand to clean a splotch of ice cream from her toddler's shirt, several teenage boys gazing adoringly at a broom in a shop window, a rat perched proudly on a man's shoulder, an owl's golden eyes flashing briefly down at him as it passed overhead, a woman stuffing several brightly-colored newts into a velvet bag. He realized vaguely that his heart was pounding. A few owls swooped back and forth above the crowded street, the words on store signs glittered and danced without electricity, a pair of girls walked by chatting idly about love potions, and people were constantly arriving and departing through the fireplaces.

While Luke tried hard not to look awestruck, Jackson had no such inhibitions, dashing around in short bursts and exclaiming at everything, his face filled with the most open and complete joy Luke had ever seen. Lunsford was watching his nephew with his curious gentle smile, and then turned to Luke.

"Well, Lucas, I guess we'd better see whether or not you're a charity case."

Luke grinned. "I guess so."

"Come on, Jack, we'll go by the brooms later." Lunsford put a hand on the boy's shoulder and guided him.

They were quiet for awhile and Luke tried to keep track of everything he saw. Dragontooth Square was a massive unified confusion of people and voices—mothers calling to children, street vendors dickering prices, students joking. Luke had never been in a large city before, much less anything on scale with New York, and the spillover of bustle and culture from the surrounding Muggle city was overwhelming. He was surrounded by the new and strange, saturated with it, and it didn't really surprise him to see several children about his age either crying or on the verge of tears. As for himself, Luke felt strangely calm, swept along in the wake of Lunsford's robes.

"Why do they call it Heartstone?" he asked.

"I suppose you'll find out." Lunsford glanced at him in a friendly way. "In fact, if you look over there, you might get a pretty good idea."

Luke followed his gesture and saw a tail. It was made of pure white marble and swept down the side of the square; several shops and cafes were carved from the stone as it grew larger and thicker, dwarfing the people who took no notice of it as something that had always been there and always would be. But Luke and Jackson stared unabashedly as they moved to walk alongside the tail, which followed the border of the Square, and where it turned the corner onto the next side it was joined to a massive haunch culminating in a clawed foot twelve feet long that seemed to grow into the street just as the body grew into the buildings that securely bordered Dragontooth. The great rounded stomach, stretching on for the entire length of one side of the Square, was carved with thousands upon thousands of tiny scales and it took all of Luke's concentration to keep from jogging ahead to see what came next; it was clear that only his uncle's hand on his shoulder kept Jackson from doing so. They passed the front leg in the far corner which was curled protectively around a giant gleaming ball of what appeared to be solid gold. The neck was long, taking up almost an entire side, and curved at the end so that the head was facing into the Square.

"A dragon," Luke whispered, awed despite himself.

"Oh, wow," muttered Jackson.

"Mm-hm." Lunsford paused and looked at the carving with a small pleased smile, appreciating it anew through the boys' eyes. The dragon's mouth was stretched wide and people were passing in and out, stepping between the waist-high teeth and disappearing down the cavernous throat. "That's the bank, boys."

"Wow," said Jackson again.

Still smiling, Lunsford led the way through the maze of shops and stands and they slipped between the teeth. Luke ran his hand over one; it was perfectly smooth and looked worn, as though many people before him had done the same. A little nervous but determined not to show it, he followed the professor and Jackson and walked along the tongue—which was rough to simulate tastebuds, which Luke found rather macabre—into the darkness of the dragon's throat. As the light of the street faded behind them, they passed torches mounted in the walls that led the way. Along the walls were display cases containing expensive-looking vases and coin collections and artifacts, lit by gentle recessed lighting.

"Now," said Lunsford briskly, "the wizarding bank in London is run by gnomes, but about fifty years back we had a pretty bad experience with them, so we hired the dwarves instead."

"What happened with the gnomes?" asked Jackson.

"Apparently someone offended them and they holed up in the bank, hexing anyone who got close, demanding better treatment. The details are hazy, but they were summarily shipped off. No one wants to deal with a cranky gnome. Now, dwarves are much better. They're tight-fisted so each one doubles as a guard, and they have incredible memories, and they're pleasant but very boring. It would take an awful lot to incite them to violence."

Luke grinned in the flickering torchlight. The cavern within the dragon's neck expanded ahead of them, both sides lined with long counters and hanging lights with green shades, beneath each of which sat a dwarf tending to customers. They were no taller than Luke but enormously stout, at least as wide as they were tall and dressed in leather and rough-looking cloth with thick, scraggly beards that fell to their waists or longer. Lunsford approached an empty counter and the dwarf that sat there with his hands resting lightly on the polished wood. Luke stared at those hands with fascination—they were twice as wide as his own with short fingers so thick that the dwarf could not have crossed them if he had tried. He regarded Lunsford with beady, glittering eyes from beneath eyebrows that stood out an inch from his forehead. "Professor," he said in a deep gravely voice, and the movement hardly budged the deep wrinkles on his cheeks. "Welcome to Heartstone. I trust you have had an enjoyable summer."

Lunsford nodded. "I have, thank you. I am here to register two children."

"Very good." The dwarf cleared his throat and peered down at the boys. "Which first, then?"

Lunsford nudged Jackson forward. "This is my nephew, Jackson Vance Parker. He'll have access to his family's vault."

The dwarf nodded. "And the other?"

"For the other, I must inquire about the account of Helena Wright."

"Deceased," the dwarf replied at once, with a slight bunching of his forehead wrinkles that suggested pity.

"I am aware. This is her grandson Lucas, who is enrolled at Emerald Hill beginning this term."

The dwarf leaned a little closer to study Luke for a moment and Luke could almost sense him filing away this new information; he had the brief mental image of a thousand rows of tall filing cabinets crammed with papers, the dwarf's consciousness flitting about at light-speed to access whichever name was given him. "Sorry for your loss."

"Uh, thanks," said Luke.

The dwarf looked back at Lunsford. "So it's his now."

"Yes." Lunsford was completely calm, even appearing to enjoy himself, but Jackson was fidgeting back and forth anxiously. "He is the sole magical heir of the family."

"Very well." Without waiting for further encouragement the dwarf scribbled something on a complicated-looking form with a long feathered quill, writing very quickly despite the incredible size of his fingers, and then pressed a largish stamp to an ink pad and held it up. "Your hands," he said to Luke and Jackson, "one each." Lunsford nodded encouragingly and Luke stuck out his right hand (he was left-handed and did not want to risk it being damaged), Jackson his left. Almost faster than the eye could follow, the dwarf brought the stamp down on the back of their hands hard in rapid succession, slamming them into the wood. Luke did not cry out but he gasped, more at the shock of the thing than the brief, dull pain, and drew his hand back to stare as the ink, bright and crimson like blood in an intricate circular design, sank into his skin without a trace. Jackson had not made a sound, staring at his hand with wide eyes.

"Now state your full name," said the dwarf, and held out a sort of miniature phonograph. Bemused, Luke leaned in and spoke into the cone. "Lucas Alan Baxter." The dwarf finished filling out the form at lightning-speed and sealed it with the stamp that he had used on Luke's hand, then recorded Jackson's name and completed a second form. "Done. The Wright vault is number six-seventeen, now in the name of Lucas Alan. Present your hand at the door." He sat back, giving Luke a solemn wink, and Lunsford put a hand on the boys' shoulders to lead him away.

"What's that ink?" Jackson asked as they walked toward the dragon's stomach, rubbing the back of his hand with a thumb.

"Congratulations, boys, you're marked for life. That's a very important registration you both just did—you're now in the records of the American Wizarding Society. You'll have to update that voice-recognition recording once yours change, but basically it's so that our government knows you're wizards and are active in our society. Plus, you get access to your family's vault."

Luke paused, thinking. "What if someone doesn't register and just keeps his money at home?"

"Then he'd never be able to attend Emerald Hill, and without a degree there his chances of getting a decent job are pretty much nil."

Luke was not certain of that word, but the context gave him a good indication of its meaning. They were stopped at the end of the desks so that the dwarf guards could check their hands for the invisible stamp, somehow sensed by them, and then proceeded. The dragon's chest and abdominal cavity were a vast cavern lined with vaults all up and down either side that extended into the distance with staircases leading to the upper floors, lit by the ubiquitous torches and an enormous glowing fountain in the center of the floor that filled the place with the lovely music of water. The bannisters were made of dark shining wood and the stairs were carpeted in deep wine-colored velvet, and with large Renaissance oil paintings hanging here and there, the whole place had the feel of the mansion of an eccentric. Luke liked it very much.

"It's bigger than it looked," he said, quietly so as not to disturb the library air of the place.

Lunsford smiled briefly. "It is, actually," he said. "Magic. Now, let's see, we don't need to go by yours, Jack, so we'll go to Lucas's. Odd numbers are on the left. You'll be six levels up." He led the way, his shoes ringing on the flawless hardwood floor. There were a few dozen people already in the bank and they passed several as they took the staircase up toward the sixth level. Luke was fascinated to see that each vault had a unique door that presumably reflected the nature of the family who owned it; some were carved with vines and flowers, some with roaring dragons or strange beasts unidentifiable to Luke, some with family portraits or crests or illustrations of certain spells, and he recognized a few symbols and colors that were obviously in loyalty to Emerald Hill factions. When they reached vault six-seventeen Luke stopped short, staring deadpan at the door. The design was very simple—a boy, his face mostly hidden by a fringe of hair, standing in a doorway and smiling down at a wand cradled in his hands.

"Wow," said Jackson. "Did your grandma do that, Luke?"

Luke shook his head. "I was two when she died—she did this before then. She couldn't have known that I'm a...wizard."

"I wouldn't be so sure," said Lunsford, leaning against the bannister behind them. "To those sensitive to it, witches and wizards can be identified very early in life."

Luke shrugged and stepped forward to the door. The boy carved there didn't really look much like him, but that was something his grandmother certainly could not have predicted. There was no knob nor keyhole, and remembering what the dwarf had told him, he held out his hand toward the door and it swung open immediately, smooth and silent. The vault was deeper than it was wide and there was not much to be seen, only a few small piles at the extreme end. "I suppose she exchanged most of it when she decided to get married," said Lunsford from behind him. "Your grandfather was a Muggle."

"How much is it, Uncle Heath?" asked Jackson.

Lunsford nudged gently past Luke to examine the money. "Well, it's not much," he said, looking up at the boy from a crouch. "But it'll cover you for the first few years, with some pocket money."

Luke nodded. "What about the other years?"

Lunsford looked down at the little pile, frowning thoughtfully (or so Luke guessed from his brow, for he was facing the side with the scar and the mouth was motionless). Jackson was fidgeting anxiously but for once said nothing. "I'll cover you," said Lunsford then, and stood, brushing off his robes. "The whole thing. You take this for yourself, Luke. I'll pay for your schooling."

"Yes!" cried Jackson.

Luke felt as though cold water had just been thrown in his face. "No," he said, "I can't let you do that. It's a lot of money. You don't even know me."

The man smiled kindly. "I want to do this for you, Lucas."

"I...I'll pay you back when I can."

"That's not necessary."

"C'mon, Luke!" Jackson slung a skinny arm around Luke's shoulders. "You live with my family, so now it's just like it's your uncle."

Luke had to smile—Jackson had that effect on him. Lunsford smiled back.

Out on the sunny street, Luke was feeling exceptionally lighthearted and the confusing bustle only cheered him further. "What now?" he asked.

"We'd better get you fitted for your uniforms," replied Lunsford. "This way." He swept off without waiting for a reply and Luke and Jackson had to jog to catch up, squeezing through the crowd. "Emerald Hill has uniforms?"

"Yeah," said Jackson, "but they're not so bad."

Lunsford nodded. "There's been a little protest about it, spirit of the day and all, but I doubt it'll change anytime soon. You only have to wear it in class, and besides, it's just so much easier to keep track of who's who when you're all color-coded." There was a smile in his voice, but Luke was on the side of the scar and it only twitched. "See, here we are. There are several places to have this done, but I've always liked Ivey the best."

They were in front of an old store with a wooden front, and the large sign over their heads read _Ivey's Emerald-Wear_ in bright green letters. "Why is it called Emerald Hill?" Luke asked suddenly. Jackson opened his mouth, apparently realized that he did not know the answer, and looked expectantly up at his uncle with the priceless assurance of the young in their trusted superiors.

Lunsford opened the door and gestured, and winked as the boys passed. "I expect you'll find that out once you get there," was all he said.

The inside of the shop was stifling despite the large fan above the door, and very crowded. All around them were students waiting to be measured with their parents standing anxiously by, and when Luke and his companions entered he again had the sense of being with a minor celebrity, for the faces of the surrounding people—students and parents alike—lit up to see Lunsford and he was greeted from all around. One very excitable man, shorter than Luke and very round, came bouncing up, beaming from a red face. "Heya, Heath!" he cried, pumping Lunsford's arm. "How's the weather up there?"

"Fairer but muggy," came the reply, and the little man roared with laughter as though this were an old joke between them. Luke and Jackson exchanged a dubious glance, but Lunsford chuckled. "Jones, why is everything backed up?"

"Linda Day's brought in her brood."

"Oh no—the quints?"

The short man—apparently Jones—bobbed his head and mopped the sweat from his forehead with the back of a sleeve. "They're turning eleven in the fall and they're _wild_. Dragons or Gryphons for sure. Hey, Jacko, who's your friend?" He leaned in to peer at Luke, his eyes so lined and baggy that no color could be seen, only darkness and a twinkle.

"This is Lucas Baxter," replied Lunsford. "He's starting this year."

"Hey, great!" Jones seized Luke's hand and pumped it enthusiastically. "Say, wait a sec...Baxter?" He looked more closely at Luke. "Who are your parents?"

Luke's pulse quickened. "Adam and Nicole."

"Oh. I knew a Bob Baxter back when I worked the Floo mines, that's all."

He engaged Lunsford in conversation as the line grew longer and more compact. Jackson spent the next twenty minutes trying to describe Emerald Hill's uniform, as he had seen his father's several times, but the picture that formed in Luke's head was very muddled. Suddenly there was a burst like an explosion in the back of the store and what appeared to be a small army of people headed for the door; Luke guessed at once that they were the Days. Linda Day was tall, slender, and very pretty, more so because of her pleasant smile, shadowed by a handsome and affluent-looking husband. Each of them held a small child—the two were twin girls—and all around them bobbed a sea of brown curls. There was one older boy and the quintuplets, all of them rosy-cheeked and blue-eyed like their mother, passing by in a haze of excited gabble and a waft of Mrs Day's flowery perfume.

After that the line moved much more quickly and within fifteen minutes it was Luke's turn. No less than five measuring tapes, moving of their own accord, leapt upon him the moment he stepped onto the little platform in front of the mirror. The mirror was charmed to give him a preview of his school robes, and he stared at himself, marveling privately at a world where robes were the dress of choice. It would take some getting used to.

"Aren't they hot?" he asked, glancing at Lunsford in the mirror.

"Emerald Hill is in the Rockies, Lucas—in about a month you'll be perfectly comfortable in those robes, and a month after that you'll start needing a cloak."

Lunsford carried the packages containing Luke's and Jackson's robes as they made their way back to the street. "Now for your books," he said, and made off at once up the street. After another equally crowded session in the bookstore, wherein Luke and Jackson made arrangements to have their books and writing supplies sent to Emerald Hill ahead of them, they were headed to the wand shop when they passed the window display of broomsticks and Jackson stopped, grabbing Luke's arm to hold him there. In the window were brooms nothing at all like the sort you would sweep the porch with—these were streamlined with a slight scoop in the handle to make sitting easier, the thick and shining bristles bound tightly with cords, brand names written in elegant golden script on the handles. When Luke looked up again Lunsford was nowhere in sight and he pulled Jackson up the street at a jog. The professor was not difficult to spot and they caught him at the entrance to the wand store; he had not noticed their momentary absence.

The interior of the shop was bright and cheerful, done all in purple and gold, and at the counter were a set of identical twin witches, one in a gold smock and the other in purple, tending to the customers. Jackson began a cheerful discourse of his ideal wand—the terminology went over Luke's head and left him rather confused, but it was only a few minutes before the purple-smocked witch called to Lunsford by name and the boys followed him to the counter.

The witch asked for Luke's wand hand. He held out his left, assuming that she meant his dominant hand, and she took it in both of her own, which were very soft and smelled of powder. She examined his fingers and asked him to flex his hand, all the while muttering to herself, and then released his hand and smiled kindly at him. "Lucas Baxter," she said. "We have your grandmother on record. If you please, let me see your eyes."

Bemused, Luke pushed back his hair and was startled when the witch's kind, rather plump face suddenly grew very hard and stiff, like a wax mask, only with glittering eyes that now seemed as deep as wells, brimming with half-guessed puzzles and secrets. Then, just as suddenly, she stood and was smiling pleasantly again, and turned to walk through the bright shelves full of very small drawers. Reaching one in particular she opened it and drew out a long thin box, gold and tied with a gold ribbon. "Here you are," she said, pushing it across the counter. "Thirteen and one-quarter inches, mahogany, cored with dragon heartstring. We'll charge it to your account, Mister Baxter."

"Thanks," said Luke, accepting the box.

Jackson's wand was eleven inches, ash with a unicorn tail-hair in the core, and it came in a purple box with a gold ribbon. He held the box as though it contained the most precious treasure in the world.

"Well," said Lunsford as they exited the shop, "there's only one other thing that might be useful." He gestured toward a shop across the street. "You're allowed to bring a pet with you. Most students choose an owl, they're obviously really useful and very loyal. Perhaps a barn owl, Jack? Or maybe the Great Horned for Luke?"

Jackson whooped with excitement and Luke followed in the wake of his dash. The store was remarkable—there were hundreds of cages and pens full of owls, rats, cats, and giant toads, all of incredible variety. Jackson and his uncle went at once to the wall lined solidly with owls and Luke was following them, but then something caught his eye. A few girls about his own age were clustered near an open-topped pen, reaching in to pick up the kittens housed there. Luke had never been particularly fond of cats, but in passing he looked down into the pen and had stopped walking before he realized what was happening. He moved a little closer. There were about a dozen kittens there, several of them being held by the girls, the rest stumbling adorably through the sawdust which got stuck in their still-fuzzy fur. One in particular caught his eye—it had grey fur with hints of darker stripes and white socks on all of its legs, as well as a white tail-tip and a tiny blotch of white on its nose. He realized that he was smiling, and came close enough to lean on the side of the pen to look down at the kitten.

_I want an owl_, he told himself firmly. _It can take mail and messages for me, I won't have to clean up after it, it'll never be in the way—I don't want a cat. What would I do with a cat?_ But then, for no reason whatsoever, he reached down and picked up the kitten, cradling it to his chest. It was warm and soft and hooked its tiny claws into his shirt, mewing quietly.

"Luke! Look, a Great Grey Owl chick! It's one of the biggest kinds, Uncle Heath says it'll be... Luke?"

Luke looked up; Jackson and Lunsford were looking at him, Jackson confused and his uncle wearing an amused little smile. "No owl?" asked Lunsford.

Luke shrugged one shoulder and stroked the kitten's back. "I guess I should."

Lunsford watched him hesitate. "The school has owls, you know," he said. "For everyone to use."

"Forget that!" cried Jackson. "He can use my owl all the time."

Luke nodded as though this were unimportant, but as he lifted the kitten free to replace it in the pen, instead he looked at its round face with that little spot of white. It looked back at him with eyes still the blue-grey of all kittens, and then he wondered what color they would be when it was older, and when it hooked a tiny paw around his finger he knew he was sold. They had the clerk charge his account and bought a little cage to use in travel and food to last several weeks. "It's weird," said Luke as they walked out into the afternoon sunshine. "I don't even like cats."

"I do!" said Jackson cheerfully, hauling along the owl cage that was almost as tall as he was. "Owls gotta stay with the other owls, but cats can go wherever they want. It'll be fun to have around."

Luke grinned. The kitten lay placidly in his arms, occasionally reaching up to bat at his cheek with velvet-soft paws. "Is it a girl or a boy? I have to know what to name it."

With mock-contriteness, Lunsford took a glance beneath the little animal's tail. "I knew it," he said. "A girl." They were back at the circle of fireplaces again, and presently he turned to them briskly. "Well, that's about all for us. You're quite welcome to look around and get whatever else you want, boys, but I'm afraid I've got to get back to school. I have a lot of work to get done before September."

"Are we just going home?" asked Jackson.

"Well, you'll have to talk to your dad about that. You might just be able to talk him into staying in one of the hotels here for the week."

"Yeah! Let's do that, Luke!"

Luke considered the options. "Well, we need to get our clothes and stuff from back home. We could stay there tonight and then come back here."

"Can we, Uncle Heath?" asked Jackson pleadingly.

Lunsford laughed. "Ask your father! For now, let's just get you back to him." He drew from a hidden pocket of his robes a small velvet drawstring bag. "This is Floo powder for tomorrow, since your dad doesn't keep much at home."

Jackson's arms were full, so Luke took the little bag. "What do we say to get home?" asked Jackson.

"Well, now that you're registered, just say _home_." Lunsford gave them his lopsided smile (which seemed to Luke less and less grotesque every time). "I'll see you at the gates, boys," he said, and taking a handful of the powder tossed it into the nearest free fireplace, spoke his destination, "Red River," and disappeared in the swirl of green flames.

"You do it," said Jackson. "I have to carry the cage."

Luke scooped up a small handful of the Floo powder as he had seen Lunsford do, and tossed it into the flames of the nearest fireplace, which promptly turned a very satisfying emerald green. Then he hesitated. "You'd better say it," he told Jackson. "If I tell it home it might take us to North Carolina."

"Right." Jackson waddled forward with his burden (Luke got his first sight of the young owl, which was about the size of a crow with the scraggly mismatched feathers of an adolescent and lovely golden eyes) and said clearly to the fire, "Home."

* * *

That night, with the kitten curled snugly into the curve of his throat, Luke lay awake for a long time reliving the day and how wonderful everything had been. "You need a name," he whispered to the little furry body, and the kitten stirred, twitching her tail once.

In the morning, the entire family joined the flurry of packing. Jackson was at the center of it all, digging through his possessions and frowning as he compared t-shirts, separating his things into piles to take along and to leave behind. Luke helped for awhile and then watched, perched on his bed, until he finally worked himself up to dragging out from under the bed the old battered suitcases he had found in the attic of his house when they had told him that he could not stay with Mark. The kitten involved herself in the entire process, burrowing into his neatly-folded clothes and laying very still until he poked her, whereupon she would rocket out and race once around the room, to the delight of the daughters, before repeating the game. But instead of being annoyed Luke found himself laughing.

He scooped the kitten into his arms and held her against his cheek. With the happy chatter of the Parkers all around, he had not felt such pure simple pleasure in months. The older daughter, Margaret—whom everyone called Maggie—sat down beside him and giggled as the kitten bounced into her lap. Luke smiled. "Isn't she great?"

"She is! I'm so glad you got a kitten." Maggie stroked the kitten's soft fur. "Does she have a name yet?"

"Nope. I want something nice, but sort of...well, witchy. You know?"

"I think so." Maggie pursed her lips, tugging the kitten's tail gently. "How about Grimalkin?"

Luke looked at her, startled. "What?"

"Shakespeare—belonged to some witches in _Macbeth_. We read it last spring in school. It just means 'grey cat,' I think. That's what the teacher said."

Luke lifted the kitten, looking intently into her eyes. "Well, that's what you are, grey cat. What do you think?"

The kitten wiggled and squirmed and finally gave up, laying limp in his hands with an almost human look of frustration. He laughed and hugged her. "It's a good name," he said. "Grimalkin."

Maggie looked pleased. "Need any help?"

"Nah, I'm almost done." Luke did not have much to begin with and the two small suitcases, plus a backpack to hold his favorite books, held all that he wanted to take. Besides the clothes and books he had a little black rock that fit in the cup of his palm, four tiny dinosaur figurines he had had for years, a photo album of pressed flowers, a pair of binoculars, his well-creased and rather battered Red Sox poster, a small set of charcoal drawing pencils that he had never used, but which had been a gift from his mother, and a frame holding two photographs of Luke and his mother: one on the dock of their pond in North Carolina with Luke at age four proudly holding up the little yellow perch he had hooked and caught all by himself, and the other on a rented boat on Lake Superior with both of them holding up a thirty-eight inch northern pike. This latter had been taken only the previous spring, and Luke looked at it for a moment before tucking the frame carefully between his folded shirts where it would not be damaged.

He sat back and looked at the suitcases. _Hardly what you'd think a wizard would be packing_, he thought to himself, _but it's not my fault, I didn't know until two days ago_.

"They're not expecting you for a few hours," said the mother from the doorway. "Want something to eat? Waffles?"

"Yes!" cried Jackson

Luke smiled. "Those are my favorites."

"I know. C'mon."

They ate altogether at the kitchen table as always but the atmosphere was different now, and Luke wondered if it would ever be like it was. _Probably not_, he reasoned. The effects of being touched by the extraordinary tend to be lasting, and with a fireplace that had become a portal and children graced with magic, the house breathed differently now. When the time came Luke and Jackson took their suitcases, with Grimalkin in her little cage and the Great Grey Owl chick in his, and they let Rachel toss the Floo powder into the fire. Luke was to leave first, and before he did he looked over his shoulder.

"Thanks for everything," he told the mother. "Really."

The mother smiled in her kind way. "We'll see you at Christmas, Luke."

He nodded. "Bye, Rachel, bye, Maggie. Bye, Delia." The girls chorused farewells (and the baby gurgled). Luke turned to the fire and said, "Dragontooth Square." As he stepped into the swirl of green heat, he breathed in.


	4. Four

They had ten days to spend in Dragontooth Square. Luke and Jackson shared a little hotel room and a single large bed and every minute of each day, and Luke had never known such a wildly unpredictable time. Neither of them knew the norms of this new society, and though on his own Luke would have been lost, Jackson's complete lack of self-consciousness was impossible to resist and together they explored every corner of the square.

The first afternoon they spent a good amount of time in the broom shop, listening to the adults talk about models and techniques and flipping through racks of posters of famous Quidditch teams. Luke had so many questions that they found their way to the seven-story library (four stories of which were underground) and pulled every book on Quidditch they could find, returning almost every day to read and study and discuss until Luke knew the game as well as Jackson. They got kicked out of the broom shop for touching the display brooms and laughed about it over ice cream, their toes dangling well above the sidewalk at the tall outdoor café tables.

They returned to the ice cream shop with their textbooks, flipping through and exclaiming over the more exotic passages and bragging over their potential abilities until they worked up enough courage to pull out their wands and try a few charms. By the time the purple smoke cleared Jackson's shoes had disappeared, the robes of several bystanders were covered in polka dots, and Luke's left thumbnail grew quickly and continuously for the rest of the afternoon. The owner of the ice cream shop was very understanding, only confiscating their wands for a day, and as they carried their Charms textbooks back to the hotel Luke and Jackson agreed that the experiment had been a wonderful success.

After several days of working up their courage, they finally went to visit Jackson's family's vault in Dragontooth. They were nervous that they would not be allowed in without adult supervision but the dwarves did not seem to notice, merely glancing at their hands and waving them on. They walked the various levels, admiring the various door designs, and asked several other visitors for the conversion rate between the dollar and the wizarding currency—large golden galleons, silver stags, and small copper knuts—receiving no satisfactory answers but enough suspicious looks to cease their inquiries. Without knowing this rate they had no clear idea of the amount of money in the Parkers' vault, but by sight alone they figured that Jackson's education would have little effect. "We're rich," said Jackson, his eyes gleaming in the semi-darkness as he sat among the piles and bags of coins.

"You could have a huge house if you wanted." Luke tried, and failed, to lift a bag of galleons.

Jackson considered this. "I guess I could. But we'd probably have to live in an all-wizarding city, 'cause the Muggles can't know what dad's real job is, and I wouldn't like that. I like being out in the woods. When I grow up, I'm gonna have a house just like the one I have now. By a creek and everything."

"That sounds good."

"What about you? What kind of house do you want?"

Luke looked around at the money. "I guess it depends on my job."

"Yeah. But if that didn't matter?"

"Probably a house out in the woods. Like yours."

"We can be neighbors! You can live across the creek and we can meet there all the time and go fishing. Deal?"

Jackson was in earnest, and Luke shook his hand. "Deal."

Out on the streets again they found several other first-term Emerald Hill students and wandered around in a crowd for awhile, talking about rumors they had heard of the school or accounts from parents or older siblings. "Why can't kids visit?" Luke asked one girl whose older sisters had all attended. "Like, why couldn't you go to see what it was like before you got your letter?"

"Because you don't know you're a witch until you _know_," she replied. "I mean, I could do a few little things with Claire's wand—she's my sister—but that's really not allowed so I couldn't tell anyone, so no one knew. And Muggles can't go to Emerald Hill, never."

"But why not?"

"Because it's not allowed," said another boy with a matter-of-fact shrug. "If one Muggle went in, he might tell others, and then it wouldn't be a secret anymore."

_Take this to heart_. Luke heard Lunsford's voice in his head. _Secrecy is the highest priority of the wizarding world_.

In the evening the kids organized a huge game of hide-and-seek throughout the entire square, the only boundary being that they could not go indoors. It lasted for two hours, the group of seekers growing with each person found and the hiders sneaking through the shadows, ending in a wild chase of the last remaining person down the center street. Most of them were staying with their parents but a few were also in hotels alone like Jackson and Luke. They stayed in the lobby of the largest hotel in Dragontooth for several hours, drinking rootbeer and making a lot of noise until the management had to ask them to disperse.

One day they took Grimalkin out with them and lost her for three heartbreaking hours, finally coming upon her sitting like a sphinx in the window of a quill and parchment shop. She was completely undisturbed by the incident, purring while Luke scolded her and unrepentant of the two quills she had damaged that Luke was forced to purchase. "They're pretty neat, though," said Jackson brightly as they returned to the street. One was the feather of a golden eagle, a gleaming primary, and the other a composite of small bluebird and canary feathers on a dark shaft. Luke gave this latter to Jackson.

* * *

_Dear Mark:_

_I'm here in New York city. It's great here! Jackson and I are staying in a hotel in this place that's just for wizards until we leave for school. We leave on the 25__th__. I'm really nervous, because I don't know anything about it and I don't know if I'll be any good at doing magic. I hope I will. I'll try to get a picture of it once I get there. Wizard pictures move, so if I could get one that moves that would be even better, but you wouldn't be able to show anyone because this is all a big secret. Seriously. Things like the witch trials in Salem could happen again if anyone found out that this stuff is real. Maybe worse. So you really can't tell anyone. Promise?_

_I'll write again from Emerald Hill. That's the name of the school I'm going to._

_Luke_

* * *

"Where do I send a letter?"

Jackson looked up from the chili dog he was eating, and his lapse in vigilance caused a new stain on his shirt. "Dunno. There's an owlry above the office building on Branson Street."

"Uh, I don't think I should use owls for this. It's to my brother."

"Oh, he's a Muggle."

"Yeah."

Jackson contemplated this for a moment, pulling down a gulp of cola. "I guess we could go find a mailbox."

"But there aren't any in Dragontooth. No one uses regular mail here."

"I know." Jackson twitched his eyebrows, which invariably meant he was scheming. "We could go outside."

Luke knew immediately that Jackson did not mean outdoors—that would involve simply leaving the shop. _Outside_ meant outside the walls of Dragontooth Square, out into the Muggle world, into the city of New York. "You think we could? I don't even know how to get out there."

"Sure. We step out, put the letter in a box, and step back in. No problem."

This did not sound like a foolproof plan to Luke, but he had to reason that he actually knew very little about the city. He had read a little about it in his social studies classes in school, and heard various things from various sources, but to operate solely on hearsay without ever seeking out the experience for himself would be foolish. He chewed on his lip. "You know where to get out?"

"No. But I bet we could find it."

They walked the outer edges of Dragontooth, occasionally elbowing each other to warn against overacting (Jackson kept whistling, which Luke felt was conspicuous). Two of the walls were taken up by the bank—the neck and stomach of the dragon—and the other two walls were almost solidly lined with shops built into the dragon's tail, and the alleys between them were narrow and shallow, almost exclusively ending in solid stone. Jackson huffed, looking up at the curve of the dragon's tail with folded arms. Then suddenly his face lit up, changing with dramatic speed as it tended to do, and darted toward the wall. The alley between an apothecary (which Luke, intrigued by the name, had been disappointed to find was just a wizarding pharmacy) and a store full of formal robes was the deepest they had found, and also had several boxes and crates piled near the back.

"What are you doing?" asked Luke, an alarm trilling in the pit of his stomach.

"Climbing," replied Jackson as he clambered onto a crate. "I bet we can make it all the way up!"

"Hey—don't do that! We're gonna get caught!" Luke climbed up behind Jackson, barely missing grabbing the other boy's foot as Jackson scrambled out of reach.

"Look, I can almost reach the roof. Come give me a leg up."

Breathing hard, Luke stood beside Jackson on the top shelf of a very rickety old bookcase. "This wood's rotting," he said, poking the shelf with his toe.

"Then let's get up there quick." Jackson put up his arms and raised one leg, waiting for Luke to help. Luke glanced back at the street—there were people passing, but no one was looking into the alley. With a sigh he laced his fingers together to form a stirrup, letting Jackson step into it and pushing him up until he could grab the lip of the apothecary's roof and pulled himself the rest of the way. Then Jackson hung over the roof with arms hanging down and helped Luke, and they both sat puffing on the roof, looking out over Dragontooth. It was a heady feeling.

"We can't stay here, they'll spot us." Luke crawled on hands and knees toward the back, where the top of the curve of the dragon's tail extended back from the roof. There was a stone wall behind the tail—beyond which could be seen the windowless backs of tall buildings—but it was over the top of the curve and Luke hesitated, fearful of being seen by people on the street if he climbed over.

"Look!" cried Jackson, and Luke saw, to his horror, that Jackson was perched on the crest of the dragon's tail, one leg dangling on either side, pointing down on the far side. "There's a hole! I think it goes through."

"Jack! Get down from there, they'll see you!" Luke half-climbed, half-crawled up the tail and grabbed Jackson's arm, but the momentum took Jackson by surprise and they both tumbled down. Luke expected to hit the wall, and perhaps be wedged between the wall and the tail, but instead he kept falling, sliding down a steep slope among a small landslide of stone and dust, and hit something very solid at the bottom.

For a moment they were still, coughing and waving away the dust, and then Jackson's white teeth showed through the gloom. "Wow. Told you there was a hole. Where are we?"

Luke sat up slowly, rubbing a painful arm, and knocked on the wall they had hit. It rang like metal. "I think we're behind a dumpster."

"What's that?"

"A big trash can. Can you get through there?"

There was a narrow opening between the dumpster and the wall—which was brick on this side, with a crumbling hole near the ground through which the boys had tumbled—and Jackson managed to squeeze through. In the light beyond, Luke saw that Jackson was covered in black dust, with streaks on his cheek where he had rubbed his eyes. He looked up, apparently startled by what he saw.

"Gosh," he said. "It's gross out here."

Luke made his way through the gap. They were in another alley, much larger than the one they had left in Dragontooth, with tall buildings on either side, and at the end was a bright street full of cars. The sound of the traffic hit them like a blow, and Luke realized that Dragontooth must be charmed to keep out the noise because it was tremendous, a constant whining humming grinding roaring that pulsed in his ears. He had lived just outside a medium-sized town all of his life until moving to the Parkers', who lived out in the country—never had he seen traffic like this, or indeed even imagined it. The street was a solid wall of cars. Their exhaust saturated the air in a way he had never before smelled, making it seem like an entirely new world.

"Wow," said Jackson again.

"Come on." Luke stood and brushed himself off as best he could. "Let's find that mailbox and get out of here."

All of Jackson's exuberant confidence, which he usually wore like a bubble around him, seemed to shrink back into his skin as they made their way to the street. People were walking up and down and for a moment Luke was afraid that they would be noticed and the hole in the wall discovered, but all of the pedestrians were so preoccupied that no one even looked at the two small, dirty boys standing at the mouth of the alley.

"It's so big," said Jackson, craning his neck to look up at the high-rise buildings. "How do they build the top parts?"

"I dunno." Luke was on edge, his nerves jangling the warning that they should not be here. He felt completely out of place. "Let's just find the mailbox."

They scanned the street but did not see any mailboxes through the passing crowds, and so turned right out of the alley and made their way along the sidewalk, staying close to the building. They shortly reached the end of the block, which Luke did not realize until he saw the asphalt underneath; they were drawn along by the flow of people, like alien debris in a river. Just as they were reaching the next corner, Jackson grabbed Luke's arm, pointing. "There!" he cried. "A mailbox!"

They had to squeeze and push, almost fighting their way toward the box, following the curb. Someone coming up behind Luke bumped him hard and he stumbled, falling on his knees and accidentally shoving Jackson, who popped out of the pedestrian flow like a cork from a bottle and landed directly in the first lane of traffic.

There was a squeal of brakes, the crunching screech of metal on metal, and the musical tinkle of shattered glass, some of which peppered Luke's shirt as he knelt on painful knees. People were shouting, someone was pulling him to his feet, and he was just inhaling to shout Jackson's name when the people blocking his view moved apart and he saw the other boy sitting up slowly, staring with enormous eyes at the car bumper about a foot from his face. The car had swerved half into the next lane and its front corner had collided with the side of another; both drivers were out and shouting, their faces a mixture of anger and relief.

Luke shoved his way into the street and helped Jackson to his feet. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

Jackson nodded, looking rather shell-shocked. "My butt hurts."

"Well, you fell on it. Come on, let's go."

"You're bleeding."

Luke looked down and saw blood on both of his knees. "Never mind."

"Hey, kid!" It was the driver of the car that had almost hit Jackson, looking shaken, his face almost purplish with emotion. "What the hell were you doin? I almost killed you!"

"Yeah, he's really sorry," said Luke, pulling Jackson along. "Someone bumped us. We're just sending a letter, so we'll be leaving now."

"Hey, hang on!" This was a new voice and Luke's heart fell into his stomach with a sickening splash to see a police officer approaching. "Lemme talk to you boys."

"We just wanted to mail this!" cried Luke desperately, waving the letter around before shoving it through the slot into the mailbox. "Really! We're going home now!"

The police officer made as though to put his hand on Jackson's shoulder and the boy jerked away. Luke heard a wooden clattering. Time seemed to stand still as he and Jackson stared, dumbfounded, at Jackson's wand laying bare on the sidewalk; Luke had never fainted, but presently had an idea that he was about to. Now more people were stopping to look. "What's that?" asked a boy a few years younger than Luke, hanging onto his mother's sleeve.

"N-nothing," said Jackson, scooping up the wand and holding it protectively to his chest. "It's just a stick. I...I carved it. At camp."

"_Boys!_"

On the border of real panic, when Luke heard this voice his surprise outweighed his fear and he simply stared. It was a voice with real authority, a woman's voice, and he and Jackson watched dumbly as she approached, in clicking high heels and a smart tweed skirt-suit. She had pale skin and the almond-shaped eyes of an Asian, but her hair was yellow, twisted back behind her head, and as she came up to them she smiled pleasantly, putting a slim hand on each boy's shoulder (though she was only a head taller than Luke). "I've been looking everywhere for you," she said in a tone that was admonishing but kind. "You were supposed to stay in the store."

Jackson blinked up at her, mouth hanging slightly open. "Uh," said Luke, "sorry. We just...had to mail the letter."

"Well, you should have told me." She looked up at the officer. "What happened?"

"I'm afraid your boy just caused an accident, ma'am," said the officer, twitching an elbow toward Jackson. "Ran right into traffic."

"That's not true!" cried Luke. He was feeling much better beneath the protective touch of the woman; stranger though she was, she appeared to be on their side, and there was something about her confident support that strengthened him. "Someone bumped us, and he fell."

"I believe you, dear." The woman squeezed Luke's shoulder comfortingly. "Now, officer, my boys have been through a lot and it's time I got them home. I'm sorry for the trouble."

The officer looked for a moment as though he would protest, but stopped in mid-breath, looking closely at the woman, who had gone quite still; then he frowned and nodded slowly. "Well, okay, ma'am. Tell them to be more careful in the future."

"Of course. Come along, boys."

They left the officer looking somewhat confused as the drivers of the two cars shouted at him for his inaction, and made their way quickly back to the crosswalk, crossing the street immediately. They were on the next sidewalk when Luke finally managed to speak. "Who are you?"

"A friend," replied the woman, still smiling. "Tell me, how did you two manage to get out here?"

Jackson looked up at her. "You mean you know about..."

"Dragontooth, yes. How did you get out?"

"There was a hole in the wall," said Luke. "We just wanted to mail a letter. My brother's a...you know..."

"A Muggle. You can say the words, boys. We're surrounded by people, but no one hears anything here. You should have told one of the shop owners, you know—any one of them could have taken the letter outside. What made you want to go yourselves?"

Luke shrugged helplessly. "I guess it made sense back then."

The woman laughed. "Many things do."

Jackson's smile had returned, and the old spark of curiosity was back in his eyes as he looked up at the woman. "Is there a better way to get back in?"

"There sure is." She guided them into a department store, walking through the racks with a confidence that suggested that she knew exactly where she was going. "And it's only for official use, so don't think you can slip out whenever you want."

No one even looked their way as they walked straight into the dressing rooms. "This is a _ladies_' dressing room!" cried Jackson, looking torn between indignance and embarrassment.

"And that's extra discouragement for you," said the woman briskly, taking them to the second-to-last stall and following them in, closing the door. "Tap on the mirror with your wand, three times."

Jackson was quickest to the draw, and did as the woman had instructed. Immediately the mirror disappeared, showing a wooden door at the end of a short passage. "That will take you into the back room of the wand shop. Greta and Vera have already been told that you're coming."

"Wait," said Luke, and Jackson froze with one leg over the step into the passage. Luke looked up at the woman, who was still smiling with red lips, her head tilted slightly to one side. She had dark brown eyes that seemed to laugh even while she was serious. "Who are you?"

"I told you—a friend."

"But how did you know to come help us?"

"Yeah," said Jackson. "You just showed up."

The woman tucked the curl behind her ear. "Look, in a city like this there are always witches and wizards around. I saw your wand fall, so I came to help. Okay?"

Luke nodded. Something still did not feel quite right to him, but the explanation was sensible enough. "Well, thank you."

"You're quite welcome." She patted his shoulder. "Now, go on. Enjoy the rest of your week, and good luck with school."

* * *

Once back in Dragontooth Square, surrounded by the absurdity that had now become the standard of safe and normal, Luke and Jackson were so profoundly relieved that they got dinner from the hotel kitchen and ate in their room, curled up in the bed with Grimalkin adding comfort.

"You could have died," said Luke. "Really."

"Yeah." Jackson paused in chewing. "It was weird. I didn't even know what was happening till it was over. I mean, if I'd died, I wouldn't even've known how it happened." He swallowed. "You think that lady works for the Admin?"

"The what?"

"The Administration—the wizard government."

"Oh. Maybe, I guess."

"I bet she does. She knew the secret passage and everything."

They were quiet for a time. "We go to school in two days, you know," said Luke then.

"Yeah! It's gonna be great!"

"There are a lot of first-terms here...do we all take the plane?"

"That's what dad said. More than one plane, I think."

Luke pulled the ticket from the front pocket of his bookbag and examined it. "But the ticket is for Cheyenne, not Red River."

Jackson put his plate on the beside table and grabbed Grimalkin, holding her in the air and letting her bat at his nose. "I guess there isn't an airport in Red River. Maybe we take the bus or something."

"H'm." Luke flexed his knees slowly, wincing; they had been bandaged with the help of the hotel staff, but were still painful. "What'll we do tomorrow?"

The other boy yawned, putting Grimalkin down and snuggling back into his pillow with arms folded behind his head. All the terror of their experience in the Muggle city that afternoon had faded, the sharpness of their emotions reduced to a vague residue with the magical rapidity belonging almost exclusively to children. "Guess we'll figure that out tomorrow," said Jackson, picking idly at his teeth.


	5. Five

His dreams were uneasy. Since the death of his mother Luke had had nothing but nightmares—during the first few weeks he had actually been medicated to restore normal sleeping patterns—but he had dreamed hardly at all since establishing his friendship with Jackson, and those few dreams were muddled and difficult to remember. Upon waking at a quarter after five on the morning of their departure, however, his dreams remained remarkably clear in his mind.

They were the typical dreams of the anxious child before beginning attendance at a new school: being unable to find the correct page in a textbook, wandering halls in fruitless search for a particular classroom as the minutes ticked by, a test for which he was completely unprepared. But these dreams were touched by the supernatural. As he searched the corridors for his classroom, students around him changed into various animals and back again, or evaporated in clouds of smoke; the test for which he had not studied was covered with diagrams of cauldrons and dragons; the textbook was written in strange arcane characters that meant nothing to him. He sat up in bed and slowly came back to himself, remembering where he was, and the knowledge hit him like a fist that today was the day that they would travel to Emerald Hill.

The plane was not scheduled to leave until the evening. He and Jackson had asked around the previous day, and had gathered that the students arriving in Cheyenne by plane would indeed be taking buses from there to Red River, a ride of more than six hours. "We'll be riding all night!" Jackson had cried in dismay, but the idea did not bother Luke. He hoped to sleep through most of that bus ride, and so shorten the wait.

The thought of arriving at Emerald Hill at last made Luke feel rather short of breath. Their week in Dragontooth Square had been entertaining and enlightening beyond anything he had dared to dream, and he could hardly imagine anything better, but everyone they talked to spoke of Emerald Hill as more of a home than a school, one of only a few places in the country that was exclusively magical, populated only by witches and wizards. Staying in Dragontooth Square had felt like a vacation; Emerald Hill looming before him felt like a very permanent step. For better or worse, the moment he set foot on that campus there would be no going back. At this point he could still refuse.

For a bare moment the idea shone in his mind. He looked at the suitcases near the door (which in their excitement the boys had packed the previous night), and felt the nearly irresistible urge to grab them, slip out, make his way to the Portal, and just go home. But then the idea wilted. He had no home to return to—all he had was the Parkers' little house, and how could he face Lionel after running away from this opportunity?

He looked at Jackson then, still deeply asleep and snoring lightly, and knew that he could not do that to him, either. Jackson was ninety percent bluster and bravado, but Luke could tell that he had come to rely on their friendship as much as Luke now did. The only way for them to enter into this strange new world was to go together. No one had meant for it to be that way, but there was no changing it.

_Okay, then_, thought Luke, watching the pale strip between the curtains for signs of sunrise.

* * *

The lines extended from each of the Portal's eight fireplaces nearly out of sight. Luke and Jackson were somewhere in the middle of one of them, hauling along their suitcases, Jackson's owl's cage, and Grimalkin's pet carrier with considerable difficulty, but no one had the time or free arms to help them. Dragontooth Square had been busy the entire time, but Luke had not thought about what it would be like when all of Emerald Hill's new first-term students had to gather there, to travel to the airplanes that would carry them two-thirds of the way across the country to their school. Only a fraction of the roughly two thousand first-terms had been staying in Dragontooth during the previous days, like Luke and Jackson, but since the only way to access Emerald Hill's airplanes was through the center of Dragontooth's Portal, the Square was a breathless press of anxious parents and children full of nervous energy. The air was charged with the electricity of the mass emotions.

Bit by bit they edged toward the Portal. Luke tried to lean around to see what was happening, but the crowd was too thick. "Jack," he said, "if we have to get to where the planes are by Floo, how come everyone can't just go there from their own fireplaces? That's how they got here in the first place, right?"

"Beats me," said Jackson cheerfully. "Better let up on that handle, or you're gonna break it."

Luke flexed his fingers, loosening his grip on the handle of Grimalkin's carrier. Within, the kitten was huddled in a corner, fearful and annoyed at this unsolicited upheaval from her pleasant routine. The owl chick, on the other hand, whenever the cover of his cage was pulled aside so they could check on him, glared a baleful challenge at the surrounding people, alert and unafraid. "He needs a name, too," said Luke.

"Yeah, I've been thinking about it. I wanna ask Uncle Heath when we get there."

"Oh." Luke had forgotten that Heath Lunsford was to be one of his professors; the thought was both cheering and intimidating, and he did not much like the combination. He felt anxiety turn in his stomach, a feeling that had become quite familiar over the past few hours since he had woken in the pre-dawn silence. _I could still turn back_, he thought, and even though he knew that he would not, the thought itself was comforting. _All I have to do is say _home_ when I toss in the powder. I'm not sure where it'll take me, but it won't be Red River. That's all I have to do_.

But as the line slowly edged forward and they got closer to the fireplaces themselves, Luke realized that it would not be that simple at all. He listened hard, sifting through the conversation all around, but could hear none of the short, clear commands necessary to travel by Floo. No one was announcing _airport_ to the green flames, or indeed anything at all. When they were close enough, he caught a glimpse of the fireplaces and was astonished.

The flames, which had been kept high and roaring constantly for as long as he had been in Dragontooth, were extinguished; he saw only one active fireplace, and through that one a stream of students and parents were constantly arriving with trunks and suitcases in tow. The others that Luke could see were cold, and to his amazement the back of each fireplace had been either physically moved or charmed away (more likely the latter), leaving an empty space. It had not occurred to him to wonder what was in the center of the circle formed by the eight fireplaces, but now he could see—there was a brief walkway around the perimeter of the circle, and a spiral staircase led down below the street.

"Wow," said Jackson, impressed.

Luke's nerves increased as the line advanced. There was confetti in the air around the fireplaces, and he noticed that the owners of the street's shops were standing in their doorways or looking through the front panes, and in the lopsided apartment buildings witches and wizards were leaning out of the windows, watching with smiles and sending up more confetti from their wands. Young children, kept safely away from the temptation of darting through the open fireplaces, gazed on with admiration and longing. The girl in front of Luke said goodbye to her mother, presented her ticket, and stepped through the fireplace to descend the stairs, and Luke looked up at the witch posted at the fireplace. She smiled pleasantly, and Luke realized that she, too, had come this way as a child. So had the mother of the girl who had just departed, standing by and looking through the fireplace-door with nostalgia in every line of her face; so had the people calling from the windows, and the confetti was in celebration of Luke and his fellows beginning their journey of full initiation into wizarding society. Luke was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of history and belonging, the weight of all those who had come before him and the knowledge that he was a part of it all, a small cog in the ever-turning machinery of this hidden world.

He smiled, and showed his plane ticket to the witch. She nodded, and gestured through the fireplace. "Carry the cat," she told him, "but you can just toss the suitcases down into the middle."

Luke was startled, but as he stepped forward over the swept stones (dark crumbles of ash were still collected in the corners) and peered over the edge of the hole he saw, perhaps fifty feet below, moving carts. Another boy enthusiastically shoved his trunk over the lip and watched it tumble, end over end, landing safely in one of the carts—which Luke saw were padded—and cruising out of sight. Reassured, Luke gingerly held out his suitcases one at a time and let them fall, and then followed the other boy down the steps with Jackson (who showed no hesitation in heaving his suitcases over the edge) close behind. The stairs wound down the periphery of the hole, and at the bottom emptied the first-terms into a spacious, well-lit underground tunnel. The line of carts ran down one side, carrying its cargo of suitcases parallel with the flow of students, guided by adults who were like pillars among the chaos, calmly offering direction and comfort. They all wore the bright green robes of the Portal attendants, and Luke wondered when they would begin to meet their future professors.

Jackson hovered close by his elbow, looking all around in a manner that reminded Luke of a bird, occasionally stumbling over the shoelaces that he could never seem to keep tied. Following the lead of the others, they made their way to the conveyor belt and nestled the owl's cage and Grimalkin's case among the luggage there before moving along the tunnel with the current of children. The tunnel caught and magnified the students' chatter until it was impossible to distinguish any one voice or sentence, and Luke wondered why they all kept talking anyway. At one point, as he was glancing over his shoulder, he noticed that Jackson's mouth was moving in a constant stream of speech, but he could not discern a single word. He smiled and nodded and kept walking.

The tunnel came to a T-intersection, and the perpendicular line had tracks with passenger cars on them, like a miniature underground train, all green enamel and dark wood and brass finishings. The students piled in with no regard to order, cramming as many as possible onto each narrow bench and hanging off of the sides until the stationed adults pulled them off with admonishments of the danger. Luke found himself squished between Jackson and the side rail and tried not to be claustrophobic as the little train began to move slowly. More students jumped on as empty carts came past, and Luke turned his attention from watching them to peering ahead down this new tunnel for a sign of what was to come.

The train ride lasted half an hour, winding along below the Muggle city. At one point they passed fairly close to a subway train, separated by the stone walls, and the passage of the larger more powerful train made the entire tunnel shake and shiver. At this the children fell quiet, clutching more tightly to the rails and the hanging handles and to each other, humbled by the sudden nearness of a world to which they no longer belonged. It made Luke feel very strange. _If they only knew_, he thought with a rush of unfamiliar emotion that was almost giddy in its intensity. _If they only knew how close we are_.

At last the train came to a stop, and Luke was bemused to see a row of metal ladders against the stone wall, leading up to the surface via what looked like plain manholes. He also saw the carts with the students' luggage emerging from another smaller tunnel, being handed up one of the ladders with quick practiced efficiency by a team of men in green uniforms with a white _EA_ logo on the back. Jackson returned his attention to the task at hand by dragging him through the excited swarm to one of the ladders, and they joined the stream of children climbing up toward the golden light of late afternoon.

Topside, Luke stumbled through the dazzling brightness, rubbing his eyes and blinking rapidly until he was able to see. "Oh, wow," cried Jackson. "Luke, look! Emerald Air!"

It was a sight to stun the most jaded of eyes—not one plane, nor two, but no less than ten _Boeing 747_s, gleaming white, each with a wide green band that narrowed to twist itself into the words EMERALD AIR. The men in the green uniforms were hauling luggage from manholes and transferring it in long hand-to-hand lines to other belts that carried it up into the planes, and Luke saw with some relief that the animal cages were being handled with great care.

Across the tarmac, which was shimmering with heat in the late afternoon sun, Luke could see the rest of the airport (whose name he did not know). It was bustling with Muggles, tiny with distance, and for a moment he wondered how on earth they did not notice these hundreds and hundreds of children appearing from underground and boarding their planes, but then he realized that wizarding airplanes could certainly not be governed by Muggle airports. The Muggles were probably not even aware of the existence of these planes—after all, if magic could hide an entire town like Red River, it could certainly hide ten _747_s.

He and Jackson followed the others, who were in turn being led by more green-robed adults, and suddenly found themselves climbing a set of twisting iron stairs that led up to the loading door of one of the planes.

"Welcome to Emerald Air," said a smiling attendant, and she took their tickets and tore off a section before returning them. "Please, go as far back as you can and fill in the empty seats."

As this arrangement dictated, Luke found himself in an aisle seat on the lefthand side of the plane, with Jackson just across the aisle in the rows of center seats. On Luke's other side were two girls, one of whom stared eagerly out the window as though unable to get enough of the sight, and the other, in the middle, who was reading. Luke tilted his head to get a better look at the book, for it appeared very old, its pages yellowed and crumbling and the leather binding cracked and worn almost to black in places. It was written in a language he did not recognize, but the girl—whose face was hidden by a fall of hair that was a startlingly bright cherry red—had her head bent studiously over the pages and was silent, completely absorbed.

Luke had been on several planes in his life, most notably the previous spring when their mother had taken him and his brother up to Minnesota on a fishing trip, but he had never been on a plane so large and found himself nervous. It was hard to believe that something so heavy could launch itself into the air and stay there. But he held his tongue, and watched with interest across the aisle as Jackson and his neighbor tried out a brand-new pack of Exploding Snap cards. After the first, rather spectacular, explosion the cards were confiscated by a flight attendant, but she promised to give them back upon their arrival in Cheyenne, which Luke thought very decent.

At last the time for takeoff arrived. Luke fastened his seatbelt and pulled it tight across his hips, and picked idly at the fuzz on the dark green upholstery of his seat. The plane rumbled, its engines warming, and moved slowly across the tarmac—looking out the window, Luke saw that their plane was third in line. He glanced at his watch. It was two minutes after seven; they were right on time. He leaned forward, watching out the window as the distant airport passed by, but then he found his view slowly narrowed and then completely obstructed by a book, which the girl beside him had moved into his view.

"Uh," he said, rather confused. "Could you move your book?"

The girl threw him a positively venomous look and he drew back without meaning to; she had a sallow, pinched face that looked sickly, especially when bordered by such vivid hair, and her eyes were a pale jade green, presently alight with rage. The glance did not last long but it startled Luke badly, so that as the plane taxied he looked straight ahead or over at Jackson. But when the time came for their plane to take off, he looked out the window again—this had always been his favorite part. As he looked, however, once again the book edged itself deliberately into his view.

"Hey," he said, "I'm trying to look out the window."

On the instant the girl slammed the book closed with great force, such that Luke jumped in his seat. She glared at him fiercely, and hissed, "And I'm trying to read my book! What's your problem?"

"Excuse me," said a flight attendant who had come up beside Luke, "is there a problem?"

Luke opened his mouth but the girl spoke first, loudly: "I was just reading, but he said he couldn't see, and then he pinched me."

Luke stared at her, astonished beyond words at this injustice. She was not pretending to be vulnerable, but stared up at the attendant brazenly, as though defying him to challenge what she had said. The attendant turned severely to Luke and said, "That behavior is unacceptable. If it happens again, I'll have to report you." Then he left, going to his seat for takeoff.

Luke's face burned. He felt like crying or screaming, like taking his case to the highest court to have the girl punished. How unfair! He had never minded paying the price for something he had done wrong, but being wrongfully accused stung him deeply; it reminded him of his older brother, who had often tried to pin his crimes on Luke, though fortunately their mother had always been able to see the truth.

A piece of gum was flipped into Luke's lap and he looked over at Jackson, who was smiling in a way quite unlike his usual—this was a gentle, commiserating smile, and it made his face look older. Luke unwrapped the gum and began chewing it. He had told Jackson about how his mother had always given him gum to help his ears pop during flight, and Jackson, who had never flown, had been eager to try. But Luke's spirits were quite deflated and he spent takeoff staring moodily at the back of the seat in front of him. It was bound to be a long six-hour flight.

* * *

In reality, it was not as bad as Luke had anticipated. Jackson, being an unending fount of cheer, made it impossible to stay angry for long. They were served peanuts and soda—being promised a late dinner upon their arrival in Cheyenne—and watched an orientation video about Emerald Hill, which Luke found fascinating. He devoured every tidbit of information, including the tantalizing glimpses of the campus and smiling, waving professors, but the video was designed to be informational but not too revealing, leaving most of Emerald Hill to be a surprise. It spoke mainly of what could be expected from the various classes and what first-term schedules would be like. After that a movie was shown, a new Muggle release called _The Man Who Would Be King_, and Luke had never seen a movie that he liked so well. He made a mental note to put it on his Christmas list, was briefly depressed by the realization that he had no parents left to buy him Christmas presents, and consoled himself with the knowledge that the Parkers would surely include him, and his brother was bound to send something. Then he remembered that the Parkers did not own a VCR, and he and Jackson began forming an elaborate plan to convince Jackson's parents to buy them one for Christmas, along with the video of _The Man Who Would Be King_. "I'll be Peachy," Jackson declared, "'cause you'd make a better king. So you be Daniel Dravot." They did their best, and failed comically, to speak the English accents of these characters.

The flight took six hours, but due to the time zones only four hours had technically passed, which Luke tried to explain (without much success) to Jackson. He was glad to get away from the girl with the cherry-red hair, who had elbowed him several times throughout the flight, though he had not dared complain. It was eleven-thirty at night but after disembarking into a large open building that reminded Luke of a barn, far separated from the Cheyenne airport itself, the students were served a late meal. The flight attendants and luggage handlers doubled as servers, and did a fine job. Luke gathered that these were all attendants of the Portal in Dragontooth, who usually worked only once a week or so, but every year were pressed into service to accompany the first-terms to Red River.

Despite the excitement, travel and full stomachs conspired to make the students very tired. They were loaded onto a fleet of buses, all of which were white with a green stripe to match the airplanes, and trundled off into the night; each was given a pillow and a fleece blanket, both in green. Luke had a window seat. Jackson was asleep moments into the ride, his pillow against Luke's shoulder, and Luke propped his pillow against the window, looking up at the stars until he drifted into the dark incomprehensible realm of sleep.


	6. Six

He woke with a bump, knocking his head against the window and jerking upright, blinking rapidly to clear the sleep from his eyes. He consulted his watch and saw that it was nearly seven. In the seat beside him Jackson was curled tightly, face half-hidden by the green fleece blanket, and Luke elbowed him gently, for the bus was slowing as it approached a wide plateau where several other buses were already parked and unloading their students. Jackson snorted, peering blearily from beneath the blanket, but snapped wide-awake immediately when he looked past Luke out the window. "We're here," he breathed, with such a reverential air that nervous excitement, the first he had felt, stirred uneasily in the pit of Luke's stomach.

"I don't see any buildings," he said, leaning close to the window to look around. All he saw were pine trees and scrub, and he had a brief but vivid mental image of students sitting in a circle atop a hill of green grass, while the professor lectured from the center, perched on a giant mushroom.

"Well, it's not here, it's up the hill." Jackson wadded the blanket into a corner of his seat and stretched. "We gotta go through the whole choosing thing first, like Uncle Heath said."

"Oh, right."

They filed off the bus and joined the large group of first-terms, shaking the last bit of sleepiness from their limbs and blinking in the morning light. When he first stepped to the ground Luke was momentarily stunned by a blast of odor, something strange and powerful and so all-pervasive that it overwhelmed him. It was not exactly unpleasant, a sharp and tangy and fresh sort of smell, but it confused and disoriented him because look as he might, he could not see what might be making it. It suffused the very air. He asked Jackson, who stopped bouncing from one foot to the other long enough to sniff and admit ignorance.

The buses were parking in a roughly circular, roughly flat clearing of yellowed grass and patches of small white stones, and Luke watched as more came rumbling up the slope, following a narrow line of gravel that was more of a path than an actual road, winding serpentine through the thick pine trees that covered the slopes. He looked further up the mountain but still could see no sign whatsoever of Emerald Hill, only an expanse of trees and boulders thinning toward the impossibly high peak. Luke thought he could see a rim of snow at the utmost top, but it was hard to tell.

He fell to watching the other students, and noticed adults walking through the crowd, lifting their wands and conjuring from thin air picnic tables and checkered cloths, and standing tents for shade; others were unloading various items from the buses such as baseball equipment, Frisbees, and footballs. "I thought we were going to the school now," he said to Jackson, who, though almost too excited to be attentive, was his only point of reference.

"Oh, we are, but not all of us. The upper-terms, their buses go to a different place and they get to go up right now, but us first-terms gotta wait and go in little groups, 'cause we can't be all chosen at once. Or something."

Just then a bell rang, a silvery tinkling that reached the entire clearing with ease, and following the sound Luke saw a woman standing on a plain, old-looking wooden platform at the edge of the trees. She was short and stout and smiling, with a lot of frizzy red hair pinned down with only partial success. The crowd moved toward the platform. Luke recalled Doctor Lunsford saying that there were about two thousand students in each term, but the sheer size of such a crowd surprised him; a vast bobbing sea of young, eager faces turned upward toward the woman and the ringing of the bell, which was suspended in the air above her head and looked far too small to make such noise.

She pointed her wand, which was short and dark, at her throat and her lips moved, and then when she spoke her voice was very loud, as though amplified through powerful speakers. Luke tried not to be dazzled. "Welcome," she said, and her voice was very pleasant. "Welcome, first-term students, to Emerald Hill. As you may know or may have guessed, I am Cindy Redding, your Assistant Principal."

A little cheer ran through the crowd like a ripple. Cynthia Redding bowed her head briefly, cheeks aglow with gracious pleasure. "You may have noticed that there are very many of you." Smiles, murmured agreement. "Obviously, the process of getting you all assigned is going to take awhile. Entertainment and meals have been arranged for those of you whose waits will be extended, and we ask that you please buckle down and make the best of it. By suppertime, you're guaranteed to be assigned and happily installed in the Emerald Hill campus." She smiled, her smooth round cheeks dimpling slightly. "Now, we're going to do this alphabetically, I'm afraid." This earned a varied response, the louder being the groans from those whose surnames fell farther down the alphabetical scale. Redding held up a consoling hand. "I know, I know. Try to be patient. Will the following students please approach the platform?"

She called ten names, all of whose surnames ended in _A_. "Lucky you!" cried Jackson, punching Luke in the arm. "You're a _B_. I have to wait until Parker—it's gonna be past lunch!"

It was close to half an hour before Luke heard his name called, and he left Jackson playing baseball and approached the platform with nine others. Up close Cynthia Redding was actually quite pretty despite her plumpness, largely because of the warmth and good cheer that radiated from her. She was of a height with Luke. "All ten," she said, swinging her legs as they dangled from the edge of the platform where she sat. "Good. Principal Zander is waiting for you at the gate. Doctor..."—here she checked the list on her clipboard—"Doctor Lunsford will be accompanying you."

Luke had not noticed the man among the small group of professors standing to one side of the platform, and when he came toward them the boy grinned reflexively with genuine pleasure. "Hello, Lucas," said the man, smiling his ghastly smile. "Good to see you again."

"You, too." The other nine students in the group watched this familiar exchange with mixtures of jealousy and awe, and Luke almost felt that he owed them an explanation but could think of no graceful way to go about it. _Um, I'm staying with this boy, and Lunsford is his uncle_. He was saved from this when the professor began walking, and the students fell in behind him. There was a footpath behind the platform that led through the trees, and its look and feel were that of great use, which made Luke wonder for a moment just how many students had walked this way before him, counted by the silent trees.

"Do you like the balsam?" asked Lunsford suddenly, reaching up to finger a few needles on a dangling branch. "The smell's a shock at first, I know, but before long you won't even notice it."

"It's the trees?" asked a girl with long blond braids.

"Yes, the northern balsam have a very distinctive scent."

Luke smiled to himself, glad to have learned, and breathed in deeply. Many years later and far from this place, the smell of balsam fir would still have the power to transport him back to Emerald Hill and this very moment, so vividly that he would hear the crackling of dead needles beneath his feet and see the girl's blonde braids swinging against her back.

The path ended in another clearing, a sprawling mountain meadow alive with flowers and insects, all abuzz in the morning light. The waist-high grass looked wild and the whole place, framed on all sides by thick walls of trees, had a hushed, cathedral air that made Luke want to tiptoe so as not to disturb it. The path ran unerringly straight through the center of the meadow, and even from afar the gate was visible, an enormous structure of wrought iron, bands as thick as Luke's arms twisted into what appeared a purposeful image, but Luke could not decipher it until someone behind him whispered, "Pegasus." Then, of course, the picture leapt out, and could not be unseen. The two halves of the gate were mirror-image winged horses, rearing up, and for their eyes there were set in the iron large green stones that Luke believed immediately to be real emeralds, though each was the size of his fist.

He did not notice the man at the foot of the gate until they were almost upon it. There was a jumbled pile of white rocks to one side that formed, coincidentally or not, the vague shape of a chair, and here sat what could only be the principal of Emerald Hill. Gerald Zander was tall and broad-shouldered with a rugged, handsome face and a very white smile, and his black hair was slicked down across his forehead. His long black robes had gold lacing down the chest and the clasp at the neck was a galloping golden horse, wings held close, with tiny green stones for eyes.

He stood to meet them, spreading his arms expansively. Luke remembered Doctor Lunsford's dislike of the man and made up his mind to reserve judgement, for though he already had considerable respect for the professor, his immediate impression of Principal Zander was that of an authoritative but friendly man.

"Welcome!" he said in a deep booming voice that was cheering in the hush of the meadow. "I'm Gerald Zander, your principal. Now, you've been on Emerald Hill property for some time, but you're about to enter the grounds proper. There may not be an obvious wall on either side of this gate—" he gestured for emphasis and Luke saw that it was true—"but don't let that fool you. The Emerald Hill campus is protected by some of the most powerful and most innovative spells known to wizardom. No one who has not been assigned by this gate, or is not escorted by someone who has, can cross this barrier. It's really wonderful. Now, if you please, arrange yourselves in a horizontal line, facing the gate. Yes, that's right—just there. Good! Now, altogether, approach the gate and grasp a bar firmly in your wand hand. Maximum contact produces quicker results, so don't just use a finger. Yes, go ahead."

Luke moved forward with the rest of the line. He had no idea what to expect and mentally kicked himself for not asking Jackson, who knew so much more from his father, for he hated being taken by surprise. He held out his left hand and wrapped it around the nearest bar, which happened to be part of a horse's back leg. For a moment nothing happened and he glanced around, but then one of the children gasped and he looked at his hand, which was turning blue.

There was no mistake—where his hand was touching the iron a light blue stain was spreading over his skin like ink, bright and vibrant. Looking at it, Luke had the distinct sense of being chosen, as though he had just passed some rigorous test of acceptance, and it filled him with a strange frightened exultation. He looked at the others—there were two reds, a yellow, three oranges, one purple, one other light blue, and one dark blue among the group.

"Wonderful! Now, stay still, keep your hands there." The principal drew his wand, which was long and of a pale yellow wood, and walked behind the line, tapping each student on the head. "Ruby," he said. "Gold. Sky. Flame. Flame. Night. Sky," tapping Luke. "Ruby. Royal. Flame. Very good, you may let go now." Grinning nervously, the students gathered into a tighter group, watching as the colors faded slowly from their hands. "Congratulations!" said the principal. "You have all been successfully assigned a color, which here in Emerald Hill we call a style. You're one step closer to full initiation!"

Luke rubbed the back of his hand thoughtfully as the last of the color disappeared, and looked up to meet Doctor Lunsford's kind grey eyes. "Which were you?" Luke asked, and the others looked around.

"I was silver," said the professor.

"What about you, sir?" asked one boy of the principal.

Zander smiled. "Ruby, and proud of it. You'll wear your styles every day of your school life, my new friends, on the collars of your robes and on badges that will identify you." He put a large hand on the boy's shoulder. "Keep your styles well, for they have earned you admittance onto these grounds. Now, onward! There are many left to be assigned today." He raised his wand again and the gates opened outward, emitting creaking groans that seemed to vibrate in Luke's gut. Lunsford moved through at once and the students followed, buoyed on the elation of their successful style assignments. The path here was broader and lined with white stones, and the pine branches overhead laced together like a ceiling. Luke trotted to catch up to Lunsford. "How does the gate do that?" he asked. "I mean, what kind of magic is it, and why does it give the assignments it does?"

"So many questions," said Lunsford, but he was smiling. Luke was on his good side, and was surprised at the difference that it made in the man's face to not see the scar—Lunsford looked perfectly normal, and even handsome in his way. "Emerald Hill's founders forged that gate, and spun some deep magic into the bars. We actually know surprisingly little about it. As for the why...well, I don't have a good answer for that, either. I've always thought it's something in the pulse, or the grip. Maybe it's random. Just one of those very old things that nobody bothers to question but inquisitive children." He smiled again. "Anyway, your style says nothing about your personality—that's what the Heart Ring is for."

This sounded so exotic and mysterious, like something from a book that would include elves and dragons and, well, wizards (this thought made Luke smile), that the air of the group grew immediately tense. The path was leading steadily uphill, with every now and then a broad switchback, and by the time they reached their destination the students were puffing, but then they forgot to be tired.

The Heart Ring was a circle of well-laid stones about fifty feet in diameter, with lines of green marble branching out from the center and leading to six massive stone statues which were all facing into the circle. "Gryphon," said Lunsford, pointing, "dragon, phoenix, unicorn, kitsune, sphinx. Not to scale, of course. You'll step into the circle one by one for your choosing. That's why it always gets backed up here—it can't be done in a group. Here, watch this one."

There was a small knot of students across the circle and the other half of that group on the near side, and one of them, a tall girl with pretty chestnut hair, was walking out into the ring. She stood in the center, where the six lines of green marble came together, and turned in a slow circle, looking wary but steady. Suddenly she jumped, and whirled to stare at the unicorn, and the fear in her face was replaced almost at once by wonder and delight. Luke looked hard at the unicorn statue. It was beautifully made, carved in great detail with cloven hooves and flowing mane and a delicate spiral horn, but he could see nothing that would cause such a reaction in the girl. "Thank you," said the girl, hands clasped at her chest, and she left the circle to join the others on the far side.

"What just happened?" asked a boy near Luke.

"She was chosen," said Lunsford. "I won't spoil the surprise. Come on, let's wait over here while the others go."

There was an entire other group between Luke's and that of the chestnut-haired girl, so they settled in to wait. It was hard to look away from the choosing. Even after seeing many other students, each one that entered, no matter how confident, would still react with shock, staring wide-eyed at one statue in particular, though the statues neither moved nor made any sound. It was an enigmatic sort of magic that Luke found very appealing, and was looking forward to his turn. As the group ahead of them was finishing up, there was a small commotion at the entrance to the clearing and Luke saw a mass of brown curls bobbing their way. "Ah," said Lunsford, "the Day children have arrived."

Luke remembered Linda Day from Dragontooth Square, her kind and pretty face, and saw it reflected fivefold as the quintuplets approached. They were tall for their age and built slim, the two boys lanky and the three girls willowy, with dark brown hair, china blue eyes, and rosy cheeks, each looking remarkably like the next. They were chatting together in bright confident voices and brought with them an air of bustling good cheer that made them seem a much larger crowd than five. As they spread out among the tables one of the girls caught Luke's eye and bounced over to sit on the bench beside him.

"Hi!" she said, and her teeth were perfect. "I'm Theia."

She held out a slender hand and Luke shook it, bemused. "Luke."

She was about to speak again when one of her brothers called her, and she swept off like a bird taking flight, only to be replaced immediately by a sister, who to Luke's eye looked identical to Theia except for a small mole on her left cheekbone. Lunsford, who had been sitting on Luke's other side, gave Luke a slight nudge with his elbow as he stood, and Luke glanced after him ruefully. The previous group had finished, and Lunsford presently guided the girl with the blond braids into the Heart Ring.

The second Day girl did not immediately say anything, looking happily around the clearing, and then fixed Luke with a look of shrewd amusement. "Do you like Theia?"

Luke blinked. "What, her? Uh, I don't know, I just—"

"Don't worry, I'm kidding. I know you like me better." She laughed so prettily that Luke found it strangely difficult to be irritated. "I'm Andi, Andi Day."

"Luke Baxter."

"I know, the professor told me."

"What? When?"

"Just now." She gestured. "It's your turn."

"Lucas Baxter," Lunsford called again, and Luke walked quickly to him, confused and flustered for unclear reasons. Lunsford smiled at him. "Go on in."

His feet in their tennis shoes tapped quietly on the stones. From the center of the circle it seemed much larger, the statues towering over it, studying him with eyes that seemed to glitter in his peripheral vision but never when he looked straight at them. A faint sound tickled his mind, a susurrant whisper at the edge of consciousness that had no source or meaning. He turned slowly, looking at the statues—elegant phoenix with long swanlike neck, sphinx with sad woman-face and powerful leonine body, fierce dragon with countless carved scales and jagged teeth, gentle unicorn that even in stone inspired quiet joy, foxlike kitsune with inquisitive face and many tails, noble brooding gryphon with sharp beak and proud stance. He reflected on this and guessed that that was the key to the choosing: which creature would best relate to him?

_(Lucas Alan Baxter.)_

The voice was deep and rough, and reminded him immediately of the sound hot coals make when stirred with a stick. Luke's heart leapt in his throat and in that instant he understood the reactions of all those before him. He stared in blank awe at the statue of the kitsune, for it had stood, moving with the smooth fluidity of muscle and bone rather than stone, and leaned in slightly, looking at him with thoughtful, crafty eyes. _(You are mine,)_ it said without opening its mouth. Its tails fanned out behind, their fur rustling in a breeze where there was neither fur nor breeze.

Luke bobbed his head, swallowing hard. "Thank you," he managed to say. The kitsune nodded and sat back on its haunches, tails curling around to their former position and freezing. And suddenly it was a statue again, solid, cold rock, with no hint of life in the eyes that had seconds ago pierced him.

"Wasn't it amazing?" gasped the girl with blonde braids as he joined her on the far side of the circle. "The gryphon—it moved, it spoke to me! The wind from its wings blew my hair." She fingered a braid unconsciously. "But you didn't see it, did you?"

Luke shook his head. "And you didn't see the kitsune speak to me."

"Sure didn't. Wow, this is great."

From Luke's group there were two gryphons, one sphinx, one dragon, four phoenixes, and one other kitsune. Lunsford crossed the ring last of all, and paused to face the sphinx and bow. The boy from the group who had been chosen by the sphinx was very excited about this. "You were a sphinx like me, weren't you?" he asked, pushing dark hair out of his eyes. The professor smiled, and Luke looked around quickly, confirming what he had guessed—despite his deformity, none of the children were afraid of or uncomfortable with Lunsford. He was just not the sort of man to inspire fear, strange as his face might look.

"Congratulations," Lunsford told the group, "you are now official students of Emerald Hill, each with a style and a herald. Will you each please tell them back to me? Let's start with you, there."

"Gold gryphon," said the girl with braids, a little uncertain but excited.

"Ruby phoenix."

"Sky phoenix."

"Flame dragon." (The boy with this assignment looked particularly pleased with the combination.)

"Night gryphon."

"Sky kitsune." Luke couldn't help but be proud at this; it sounded wonderful.

"Ruby phoenix."

"Flame sphinx."

"Flame phoenix."

"Royal kitsune."

Lunsford nodded. "Very good. Let's start walking, shall we? There's some climbing left to do." He started along the path and this one was rocky, with as much scrub as trees, angled steadily upward with more, and more narrow, switchbacks. "You two"—he pointed to two of the children as they walked—"are both ruby phoenixes, so get used to each other's faces, because you'll be having all of your classes together." The two, a boy and a girl, exchanged shy smiles.

"Professor," said the boy who had been assigned as a flame sphinx, "what is that ring, anyway? When the sphinx talked to me—was it real, or just a charm?"

"Oh, it was very real." Lunsford seemed unaffected by the steep trail. "You see, the school founders wanted a way of separating their students into like-minded groups, so that professors with similar inclinations could be assigned to each group and make the lessons more effective. They could have used a charm, but charms like that tend to deteriorate over time, so for the sake of continuity—keeping things the same from year to year—and to eliminate maintenance, they decided to use animal spirits instead."

Many of the children gasped. "So they're _ghosts_?" said the ruby phoenix girl uneasily.

"Bet she was raised Muggle," muttered one boy to another, behind Luke.

"Not exactly," Lunsford was saying. "You can't choose to become a ghost. This is an old magic, very popular in ancient times for purposes of guarding and warfare. What Emerald Hill's founders did was approach an animal of each species and procure its spirit to remain in the statue until it tired of the task. This was easier with the sphinx and the kitsune, of course, because even in their wild state they are capable of abstract thought and even form societies. For the other species, the founders went to the oldest living members, bringing along witches and wizards who had dedicated their lives to the study of those species and could better relate to them. It's apparently very difficult to get through to a dragon, but I suppose they managed it somehow, for there it is."

"It sure is," said the boy who was the flame dragon. "I could hear the fire crackling way down in its throat. It didn't talk, but I felt like...I felt like it knew me."

"And in a way, it does. Of the six creatures in the Heart Ring, the dragon best represents your personality, so you'll probably get along with the others in your classes because you'll understand them."

"Are boys ever chosen by the unicorn?" asked one boy whose assignment Luke could not recall. "I'd hate it if I was."

"You must not know much about unicorns," said Lunsford, but in such a kind way that it carried little sting. "Unicorns are wild and powerful, the swiftest land creatures we know of, and males have been known to kill predators with those horns. Never mistake a gentle spirit for weakness. There is no assignment more or less admirable than another—each of the creatures is beautiful and strong. It is up to each student to find his own beauty and strength with the gifts he has been given."

This struck Luke as so remarkably wise that he was momentarily speechless. The other students in the group looked similarly awed and for a while they proceeded in silence.

After nearly twenty minutes of steady progress on the slope, Luke's uneasiness grew. The pines were thinning the higher they climbed, allowing a better view of the mountain above them, and still he could see no signs of buildings or any manmade structure whatsoever, only wind-bent scrub and scoured boulders. But Lunsford appeared completely at ease, and Luke wondered if he could see something that the rest of them could not.

"Um," said the girl with the blond braids timidly, at last. "Where is it?"

Lunsford smiled. "Up the stairs."

"What—"

And then, quite suddenly, they came upon the staircase. It was half-hidden by a flurry of bushes, old and cracked, leading about a hundred feet directly up the slope and stopping abruptly. They clustered at its foot. "So," said Lunsford. "Who's first?"

Several of the boys took off at once and Luke was just behind them, leaping up the steps two at a time, craning his neck upward, waiting for the magic. And as he watched, the mountain began to bend, stretching upward from a horizontal line at the top of the stairs, and as he climbed he was able to focus and realized that this was no true magic at all, but a simple trick of perspective—from below the slope had appeared uniform, but as he neared the top Luke could see that he was approaching the lip of a large plateau...or so he thought, until he arrived at the head of the stairs and looked down on Emerald Hill.

It was a bowl, maybe half a mile across, that looked as though it had been scooped from the mountainside. Though the landscape all around was barren and dusty, the bowl itself was verdant and vibrant, a bright green jewel nestled against the mountain. Running every which way through the grass and trees and hedges were walkways of dark brick that from above looked like veins, and through them pulsed the tiny figures of upper-term students. The buildings were ornate, with steeply-pitched roofs and many gables and dormer windows and iron railings, connected by covered walkways, and there were many spacious courtyards; Luke spotted a baseball diamond near what could only be a Quidditch field, a pond thick with cattails and marsh grass, and a railed walkway along the top of the largest building, which had a circular center with mirror-image wings branching off to either side.

"If you think it looks small, don't be fooled," said Lunsford from behind them. "Only about half of Emerald Hill's building area is visible—the rest is built into the mountain itself. In fact, you don't have to go above ground at all if you don't want to. The buildings and dormitories are connected by tunnels. Very useful in winter when the weather gets really bad."

"How do you keep something like this hidden?" asked Luke, unable to tear his eyes away from the glowing gem of life spread out below him.

"Magic," said Lunsford, and Luke could tell that he was smiling.

* * *

A narrow staircase, chiseled from the rock with a railing on the lower side, led in a crazy zigzag pattern down the side of the bowl, and the ten students in Luke's group took this single file, alternately talking excitedly and lapsing into wondering silence. Lunsford had gone back to the bottom to lead another group, leaving them to enter the campus by themselves. The grass started out thin but was soon rampant, thick and green, and there were knots of trees that Luke knew and loved—oak, red maple, birch, white pine and hemlock, even willows near the pond. It was warmer here than it had been on the mountainside, with less wind, and the bricks of the path radiated the sun's heat. The stairs ended in a broad courtyard paved with white stones, and in its center was an ornate statue of the Emerald Hill sigil, a winged horse rearing. At its base several upper-term students were lounging in the shade, and as Luke's group arrived one of the older boys stood and approached them.

"Hey," he said. "I'm Gary. Welcome, and all that. I'll take you to the dorms."

Emerald Hill was full of hedges but they were not well-trimmed, having grown slightly wild, and that precise look was so rampant that Luke began to suspect that it was purposeful—what might have been garden beds were now tangles of wildflowers and long grass; bits of dilapidated stone walls that might once have had purpose lay in magnificent crumbling disrepair, covered in thorny vines; ivy crept up trees and stones, half-obscuring several statues and even the path in places. The grounds had an air of comfortable age, as though they had been around long enough to not care at all what the students thought of the untidiness.

Luke liked it very much.

Lunsford had told him that Emerald Hill was famous for its stonework, and Luke now saw the truth of that. There were statues everywhere, some monuments or tributes and others simply works of art, mostly in marble or bronze though Luke saw at a distance a running unicorn that he was certain was carved entirely from rose quartz. Famous witches and wizards stood surveying slightly overgrown meadows, fantastic beasts dominated cobbled courtyards, bronze figures sat at repose on benches with ivy twining up their legs. It seemed like an endless fascinating maze to Luke as they walked, but he remembered from the above view that the buildings had been situated close to the mountainside.

Two enormous oak trees stood sentinel at the entrance to the dormitory courtyard, their branches lacing together overhead and shading the brick path as it spread like a river running into a lake. The yard was very large, square with two dormitories on each of three sides and a patch of grass in the center with a few trees and benches. The dormitories themselves were very impressive, massive and sturdy, all brick and stone and beams of rich dark wood, with tall windows at ground level and round windows higher up. All six were identical except for the statues in front; each creature guarded the dormitory of its students, shaped from bronze, not as lifelike as the ones in the Heart Ring but life-sized and impressive nonetheless. Upper-term students were scattered across the yard and on the broad steps leading to each dormitory's doors, looking perfectly at home.

Luke smiled.

"Here you go," said Gary, wearing a funny little smile as though he were seeing it again for the first time. "Gryphons and kitsunes on the right, phoenixes and dragons straight ahead, sphinxes and unicorns on the left. Your dorm presidents will be waiting at the doors to give you your badges so you can get inside."

Luke's group splintered, walking in smaller clusters across the courtyard, and Luke found himself accompanied by a boy with gingery hair who looked very nervous. They passed the Gryphon dormitory and the statue of the kitsune, which was no larger than a medium-sized dog but with very long legs, and climbed the broad shallow steps of Kitsune to the stone porch and the fifteen-foot doors, beside which sat a tall and very pretty girl. She stood as they approached, smiling. "Hi! I'm Mandy Kines, Kitsune president. So you're joining us this year, huh?"

Luke glanced at the other boy, who looked unable to speak. "Yeah," he answered. "I'm a sky kitsune."

"Great! And your name?"

"Luke Baxter."

The girl took out a notebook and a beautiful peacock-feather quill, writing his name in golden ink. "Alright, then, here's your badge. You wear it on your robes, like this." She indicated her own, on the left chest panel. "You need it to get into the dorm, and into some classrooms, plus the teachers go postal if they see you without it, so just keep it on all the time."

She handed him the circular badge. It looked handmade, the stitches tiny and perfect, and the kitsune and the border were white until Luke touched it, whereupon the white stitching faded immediately to the same sky blue that his hand had turned upon touching the gate. The back did not feel sticky, but when he put it to his shirt it held as though it had been glued.

"Go on in," said Mandy. "Boys are to the left."

He left the ginger-headed boy squeaking out "royal kitsune" and went to the doors, which opened obediently at his touch, moving much easier than he would have expected for something of their size. The doors opened upon a narrow tiled anteroom that ran the entire length of the building, and the walls were solidly lined with hooks and little floor-level compartments, which Luke assumed were for boots. Several jackets and sets of robes were hanging here and there, and here and there a pair of sneakers or sandals had been kicked into a compartment. A broad archway led into the dormitory itself, and Luke found himself grinning as he entered.

_The Den_, proclaimed a small plaque on the wall, and the name was fitting. The ceiling was four stories tall, the floor was all deep carpeting, and the walls were dark paneled wood, hung with banners in all Emerald Hill colors. Part of the room was sunken, full of armchairs and low tables with cushions around, and a spiral staircase led to several lofts with bookshelves and bean bag chairs. A fireplace took up nearly half of the far wall, and above it was hung a panoramic oil painting of kitsunes, which, after the way of wizarding art, moved—the kitsunes cavorted and whispered, alternately engulfed in flame and shrouded in shadow, some curled in corners and others staring brazenly out of the frame as though appraising Luke. He moved closer to look at them, and stood so for several minutes. "They're beautiful," he whispered without meaning to.

"Aren't they?" said a voice, and Luke turned, surprised, to see an older girl, maybe fifteen, sitting cross-legged in an armchair with a large book open across her lap and wire-rimmed glasses on her freckled nose. She did not look at Luke, though, watching the painting. "Sometimes I just sit and watch them. It's especially nice at night when the fire's going."

"I didn't see you there," said Luke. "Where is everyone?"

"Out and about, mostly. Or unpacking. Which you have yet to do, I take it." She pushed her glasses higher on her nose with a practiced flick of her finger. "Where's home for you?"

"Kentucky. I mean, I was born in North Carolina, but now I live in Kentucky."

"Wrong," she said, firmly but without malice. "You live here now. Unicorns always return to the place they were born, and gryphons live in the same eyrie all their lives, but kitsunes are nomads. Wherever we are is our home."

Luke considered this. "I guess you're right. I hadn't thought about it before."

The girl smiled. "I'm Zoë Fratelli. Fifth-term."

"Luke Baxter."

"Well, then." She returned to her book, but spared him a final glance over her glasses. She had very dark eyes. "Welcome home, Luke Baxter."

There were six doors set in each of the right- and left-hand walls of the den—boys to the left, and girls to the right—and the third door on the left had inlaid enamel panels of light blue, so Luke went there. Revealed was a stairwell leading both up and down, of sturdy wooden steps with a dark green runner; there were portraits on the walls that greeted him as he climbed. Each floor had several blue-paneled doors marked with golden numbers, and at the second above-ground floor he found doors marked 1, which he assumed indicated first-term students. Beside each door was posted a list of names, and he found his name (with no little amount of relief) on the last door on the right, adjoining an outer wall.

There were nine beds in the room, low to the ground and separated by rows of half-height shelves and drawers that ran the length of the beds; all was blue and white against the dark wood of the walls, and there were three large windows. In the center of the room was a large pile of suitcases and trunks, and perched on the top of this pile was a slightly battered pet carrier, through the door of which Luke could see a pair of white paws.

"Grimalkin!" he cried, and clambered up the pile to retrieve the case. The kitten, once released, submitted to his petting and then made a beeline for the bed nearest the door on the left. She curled up in the center of the blue-checkered bedspread and set about combing her rumpled fur.

"That one, huh?" Luke pulled his suitcase from the pile—barely avoiding being trapped in a small avalanche—and tossed it onto the foot of the bed, sitting beside it. "If you think so." The bed shared a window with the bed beside it, and the sill was broad enough to accommodate a cat, so Luke was satisfied. He unpacked his meager belongings and arranged them on the shelves and his clothes in the drawers. Looking out the window, he could see a corner of the courtyard with more benches and a few apple trees, and a corner of the Phoenix dormitory.

The door opened behind him and he turned to see a boy with wispy light hair. "Hey!" said the boy. "You're in here, too?"

"Yeah. I'm Luke Baxter. This is my cat, Grimalkin."

"Dave Cavanaugh. Hey, cat." The boy—Dave—extricated his two largish suitcases from the pile and stood indecisive for a moment, looking around at the other beds. He took a step toward the bed beside Luke's, asking with raised eyebrows and tilted head what most other people Luke had ever met would have asked with words, too many words. As he had with Zoë, Luke had the immediate sense of being understood by this person, and felt a surge of wordless gratitude toward whoever had implemented the herald system.

He nodded, and Dave went cheerfully about setting up his space. Luke explored the room and set up Grimalkin's litterbox in a corner of the bathroom, which was the sixth and numberless door on the floor. He lingered at the windowsill in the bathroom, fascinated to read the hundreds of names and dates that had been carved there; many of the very old ones were unreadable but he was fairly certain that a boy named Ben had been there in September 1845, by which he was duly impressed.

"What time is dinner?" he asked Dave, back in the room.

Dave shrugged. "Six, I think."

It was only eleven in the morning. With nothing to otherwise occupy his time, Luke filled Grimalkin's food and water dishes and set them up at the foot of his bed, and set out to do a little exploring of the grounds.


	7. Seven

The girl Zoë was nowhere to be seen when Luke made his way down to the Den, but there were a few other first-term students lingering there before making their way up to their rooms. Luke exchanged smiles and nods with them, but no words; it seemed unnecessary. Lighthearted, certain already that he would enjoy his time at Emerald Hill, Luke made his way to the coat room and then paused. To his right, at the end of the long anteroom, was another set of large double-doors. Remembering Lunsford's words about the connecting tunnels, Luke went there immediately, half expecting the doors to be locked, but they opened easily, revealing a short staircase carpeted in dark red.

The tunnels were broad and well-lit by torches (which Luke could only assume were magically fueled), with wood-paneled walls, and plaques at the junctures to give direction. It hardly felt like being underground. Luke followed the path—there was only one way to go from here—to the center of the courtyard, where the tunnel branched hugely; he read the signs indicating tunnels to the six different dormitories, to the outer school buildings, and to two different locations in the mountainside halls. He chose the path that, by his estimation, would lead directly below the mountain slope behind the Sphinx and Unicorn dormitories.

He was quite alone in the tunnels, feet padding softly on the carpet, and found that he liked the closed-in silence. As he walked he passed several smaller openings, mostly on his right, that were all closed with padlocked iron grates that showed signs of being broken through numerous times. He paused at one of these, peering through the chilly metal grate and listening to the quiet nameless chuckle deep within the narrow, uncarpeted passage, and could understand completely the temptation. The school was old—it had been around since the colonial times, he knew that much—and it was intriguing to wonder where the older passages led, what purpose they had served, why they had been abandoned.

"What are you doing?"

Luke jumped, badly startled, to see a man standing a short space down the tunnel, the way Luke had come, dressed in robes that marked him as a professor. "Where are your robes?" he asked.

"I, uh, didn't put them on yet. I was just looking around." Luke knew that he had no reason to feel guilty, but edged away from the grate nonetheless.

The man pursed his lips. "You're heading toward the professors' quarters, you know."

"I am?" Luke was genuinely surprised. "I guess I didn't see the fork."

"Yes, I know, you're fascinated with those old tunnels. Everyone is." The man came closer, looking through the grate; he was very tall, his head almost scraping the ceiling of the passage, with short dark hair and round glasses. "There's nothing back there. Except the lake, of course."

"The...lake?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." The man's heavy eyebrows lifted, and he did not so much as glance at Luke.

Luke bit his lip. "Okay, I know there isn't anything back there, but what do you think an underground lake in the Rockies might be like? If there was one somewhere, I mean."

The man's lips twitched in what was almost a smile. He cleared his throat. "I suppose it would probably be very deep, and absolutely frigid. Cold enough to shock all the air from your lungs if you were silly enough to go for a swim. But you didn't hear that from me."

"Hear what?"

A short, barking laugh escaped the man, and he gave Luke a long, appraising look. "There may yet be hope for our country," he said. "Your name and style?"

"I'm Luke Baxter—sky kitsune." He loved the sound of it.

"Well, Luke, when you're signing up for fifth-term classes, think about Arithmancy. I could use more like you in my classes."

"I will, sir."

"Now, just turn around and take the first right you come to. That'll take you up toward the classrooms."

"Yes, sir. Thanks."

Recovered from his shock, and pleased that his first interaction with a strange professor had gone so well, Luke did as instructed and soon found himself climbing stairs toward natural light. He emerged into the middle of a long corridor, lined on both sides with many doors, lockers, and glass display cases. There were upper-term students here, and Luke got so many stares (and one verbal admonition) that he returned to his dorm and changed into his robes. They felt strange, fitted in the torso with draping sleeves and long swishing hem, and the brass clasps on his chest with their tiny connecting chains made a very faint musical jingling as he walked, which would take some getting used to. He looked at himself in the full-length bathroom mirror and caught himself looking so lost that he had to laugh. _Get used to it_, he told himself.

He meant to return to the classroom buildings, for he had seen things in the display cases that he longed to investigate further, but he had decided to go above ground this time and was soon lost among the rambling brick paths. He came upon the unicorn statue that he had seen from afar and found that it was, as he had thought, carved from rose quartz; it said as much on the plaque at the statue's base. _The swiftest land creatures we know of_, said Lunsford in his head, and this was reflected in the beast's flowing pose, as though in flight; Luke tentatively touched the cool stone neck, amazed at the bare knowledge that unicorns were not just fairy tales but existed in truth. He imagined the unicorn leaping from its base and gliding across the little meadow, white and shimmering.

If he had ever been given cause to think about it, Luke would not have considered himself the sort of person who would do well with magical things. He had a vivid imagination but used it less than most children, preferring to explore and build. And so he found it strange to catch himself fantasizing about unicorns. _But I really am a wizard_, he told the statue silently. _The gates gave me a style, and the kitsune chose me._ He reflected that maybe just finding out something about yourself made you change to become more of that thing, and he wondered whether his brother, now that he knew he was a Muggle, would feel the absence of magic in his life where he had previously known no lack.

Luke wandered further, every now and then coming upon groups of upper-term students who regarded him without interest until he left. He saw more groups of first-terms being led toward the dorms and wondered how far along the sorting was; it was past one-o'clock now. Realizing that made him hungry, so he watched and saw that most of the upper-terms who were walking were heading in a specific direction, and he followed them. They came to what looked to be an outdoor classroom, a long open pavilion with rows of benches and a desk and chalkboard pushed off to one side, and the students' desks had been laid with bread rolls, condiments, and cuts of meat and cheese. Luke helped himself along with the rest and wandered the paths with a sandwich in one hand and two cookies in another, feeling content.

He soon came upon the building that he had seen from above to be the largest. The two wings were enclosed by walls but the circular center portion was open, its tall ceiling supported by pillars that were intricately carved with climbing vines and flowers, and across the way was a staircase fifty feet across and carpeted in green velvet, leading up and into the mountainside. One of the ubiquitous plaques, this one on a pillar, declared the place to be White Hall. There were hundreds of round tables and many students were scattered among these, with books or cards or just themselves, and in the exact center of the circle was a large loft about ten feet up, with connecting stairs of wrought iron that looked delicate and lovely; no students sat up there, and Luke guessed that it was reserved for the professors. He sat at a table alone and as he was finishing his sandwich, he saw Dave Cavanaugh approaching holding a sandwich of his own. Dave saw him and came over to sit.

"Some place!" he said.

Luke nodded. "It really is. It's great."

"Did you go to Joining Glade?"

"No—what is it?"

"It's over near the western slope," said Dave after swallowing a large bite of sandwich. "Not far from the Quidditch field. It's this big clearing where they've got more statues of all the heralds, life-sized, and they're all like playing with each other. It's the best. You can climb on them and stuff."

Luke was intrigued, but his watch said that it was almost two-thirty and he wanted to be able to meet Jackson near the dorms. He told Dave as much and the other boy nodded, untroubled, and Luke left him to finish his meal.

There were many students in the dormitory courtyard now, first- and upper-terms, and Luke strolled around looking for Jackson, having no idea into which dorm his friend might be sorted. Then something caught his eye, and he stopped.

He recognized her from a distance by her hair—it was hard to miss, blazing cherry red in the sunlight and clashing horribly with her mustard-yellow jacket. She was sitting on the steps in front of the Dragon dormitory in the shadow of the enormous bronze dragon statue, reading another old-looking book—or was it the same as on the plane?—and ignoring the excited hum of activity around her. She looked to Luke like a dark parody of the other students, thin and pale and unmoved.

A group of boys, perhaps third-term, came bouncing down the Dragon steps jostling one another, and one of them stumbled into the girl as she sat, knocking her book to the ground. His friends made a poor show of hiding their amusement while the boy, looking embarrassed, retrieved the book and held it out to her; but the girl sat in stony silence, looking straight ahead and ignoring him completely, until at last the boy tossed the book onto the step beside her and hurried off with the others. For almost a minute more the girl sat motionless, arms around her tented knees, shoulders hunched as she cast dark, accusing glances at indiscriminate components of the cheerful, sunny day, and then she picked up the book and resumed reading as though nothing had happened.

Luke was fascinated.

"Hey, Luke—Luke!"

There was no mistaking Jackson's voice, shrill with excitement, and Luke turned just in time to see the boy dashing up to him, hastily-donned robes hanging open, and as he ran he was holding part of the robes out in front of him as though that part pulled him along—it was the space on the chest that held his new patch.

"Flame sphinx!" he gasped, doubling over to catch his breath. "I'm a...a flame sphinx. Isn't it...neat? What are..."

"Sky kitsune," Luke answered preemptively, and Jackson looked up with wide wondering eyes at the patch on Luke's robes. His genuine delight was almost startling; Luke had never encountered such an empathetic character.

"Your dorm is right across from mine!" Jackson cried, pointing grandly from one to the other across the courtyard. "Wow, this is just the best thing that's ever happened. Can you believe we're really here? I can't wait for Monday! Oh, hey, there's that girl from the plane. She's a dragon, huh? I probably coulda guessed that."

They were some distance from the girl, close to the steps of the Kitsune dorm, and Luke would have been certain that the girl could not hear them except that at that moment she looked up, directly at them. Jackson gave an involuntary twitch and looked away almost guiltily, but Luke met her gaze. "Come on," he said, "let's go talk to her."

He took a few steps and glanced back at Jackson, who looked torn between fear of the strange, hateful girl and his inability to resist trying everything that Luke tried. Finally he jogged to catch up and the two of them crossed the courtyard to the steps of the Dragon dormitory, and the girl watched their approach with the same wariness with which a wounded lioness watches the approach of the hyenas. Luke and Jackson stood at the bottom of the steps and for a moment the three regarded each other in silence. The girl spoke first, abruptly.

"What do you want?"

Her tone was scornful and harsh. Jackson stood partially behind Luke, who was unmoved. "What are you reading?" Luke asked.

The girl stared at him, and her lip twitched slightly in a hint of a snarl. "A book."

"Yeah. What language is it in?"

Again she paused, as though weighing her answer against the worth of the recipient. "Lithuanian."

"Wow. I've never even heard of that. How did you learn it?"

She stuck her chin out, sitting up a little straighter, challenge in her posture. "Taught myself."

"Really?" said Jackson, interested despite his fear.

"I don't lie!" she snapped in reply, and Jackson shrank back again.

"What's it called?" asked Luke.

The girl returned her gaze to him, cool and distant as suddenly as her temper had flared. "What's it to you?"

"Just wondering." Luke shrugged. "I'm Luke. This is Jack. I'm a sky kitsune, and he's a flame sphinx."

He did not ask for her name or style, and she regarded him with deep suspicion; it seemed to Luke that she understood that it was polite to offer hers in return but was struggling against some deep-seated unwillingness. He did not move, looking at her patiently, and at last she spat it out: "Dancy. Royal dragon."

"Dancy?" Luke smiled, and saw her draw in defensively, hands curling into fists. "No," he said quickly, "I mean, it's pretty. I like it."

She glared and for a moment he thought she might strike him, but then she swept to her feet with such a sudden, smooth movement that Jackson stumbled back a step in surprise. "Fine," she said, "I will." And she turned and started up the steps again.

Luke and Jackson exchanged a glance. "You will what?" called Jackson after her.

She cast a glance over her shoulder that seemed to accuse them of being the densest people on the earth. "I'll _eat_ with you, you morons."

She disappeared into the Dragon dormitory and Luke and Jackson looked at each other, respectively smiling and unsure, both rather bemused. Jackson heaved a sigh. "Come on, let's go find our classrooms so we don't get lost on Monday."

* * *

Students began trickling into White Hall not long after five, and by five forty-five it was absolutely packed. Luke heard one of the upper-terms telling a first-term—a younger sister, by the looks of it—that White Hall and the Quidditch stands were the only places on campus where the entire student body could gather all at once, and it made a very impressive sight. Every student wore his robes and identifying patch and excitement ran through the air like an electric current, touching everyone who entered the hall. Luke and Jackson found a table in the east wing with several other first-terms, and no sooner had they sat than the chair on Luke's other side was filled; he had expected the enigmatic Dancy and was surprised to see one of the quintuplets. Noticing the mole on her cheek, he remembered that this one was called Andi.

"Hi, Luke!" she said brightly, and there were dimples in her pink cheeks. "I'm supposed to be sitting with the others, but I figured—oh!"

She was staring at his chest and Luke glanced down at his sky kitsune patch, and then saw that the patch on the girl's robes was exactly the same. She looked up at him and her blue eyes blazed with unparalleled delight. "You're a sky kitsune! That's wonderful! We'll have all our classes together! Will you sit by me?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess so."

"I'm so happy!" She clasped her hands together at her throat. Luke had never before seen anyone literally beam, but when Andi smiled her entire person seemed to glow. "Oh—who's this?"

Jackson was staring at the girl with his mouth hanging slightly open. "That's Jack Parker," said Luke. "I live with his family."

Jackson recovered himself and smiled, though his face was flushed. "Luke's my best friend."

It was the simple truth, of course, but somehow hearing it said so plainly out loud surprised Luke, and then he felt ridiculously pleased. "Andromeda Day," said the girl, shaking Jackson's hand with an air of maturity that suggested long practice in social situations. "But please, call me Andi! I haven't grown into Andromeda yet." She laughed, again proving that she had the prettiest laugh Luke had ever seen. Then she looked past Jackson and her smile brightened by several watts. "Oh, hello! Do you know Luke and Jack?"

Dancy stood there, her skin looking chalky and her hair even brighter against the dark grey of her robes. Jackson, who had not heard her approach, jumped to notice her standing so close. "Um," said Luke, "Dancy, this is Andi. She's a sky kitsune, like me. Andi, that's Dancy."

"It's so nice to meet you," said Andromeda, glowing more brightly than ever, and held out a slim hand, but Dancy merely stared at her, ignoring the hand, lips pressed tightly. Caught in the middle, Luke and Jackson were very still, hoping that something would happen to rescue them from a very uncomfortable situation. And then something did: from the professor's loft a bell rang signaling the hour, and Andromeda pulled back her hand. "I have to go," she said, "we're all sitting together. My siblings and I, I mean. But I'll see you guys later!" She flashed a final brilliant smile and disappeared into the flurry of students heading for their seats.

Dancy flopped down into Andromeda's vacated chair, arms folded. "Where on earth did you find that thing?" she hissed at Luke.

"Oh," said Luke, "she's not so bad."

"I think she's nice," said Jackson bravely.

"Oh, please." Dancy seemed about to elaborate, but just then the voice of Gerald Zander rang out through the hall, obviously magically augmented as Cynthia Redding's had been in the field upon their arrival.

"Good evening, students!" he said cheerfully. Craning his neck, Luke could see the figure of the principal standing among the professors on the raised platform, arms outstretched, turning slowly to encompass the entire hall. "Welcome, welcome to another wonderful year at Emerald Hill. Are you happy to be here?"

The response was uproarious, so loud that Luke was momentarily stunned, and grinned to see Jackson adding his enthusiastic voice to the cheer. "Well," said Zander, "that seems conclusive. I know you're all starving, but I have just a few announcements to make before dinner is served."

There was some groaning, but it was all good-natured, and Luke got the impression that most of the school genuinely liked their principal. It made him wonder, again, why Lunsford had shown such dislike for Zander.

"Firstly," went on the principal, "I'm proud to say that Emerald Hill's inter-herald Quidditch team did tremendously well on the international circuit this summer, coming in sixth overall in the Junior International Championship Tournament."

Luke joined in the applause, excited to remember that there were Quidditch teams at Emerald Hill, and that one of his classes involved learning how to fly on a broom.

"Yes, congratulations to them. A credit to the school. Secondly, Doctor Arlene Platter has decided to step down as house-mother of the Unicorn Dormitory. Taking her place will be Doctor Charles January. Treat him well, Unicorns.

"Thirdly, as I'm sure you all know, the recent surge of Dark activity on the world stage has necessitated some changes in our school policy. Effective immediately, there are to be no unauthorized visits to Red River. We're going to be very strict about this. Any student caught beyond the campus grounds at any time unaccompanied by a professor will be put under lockdown for a month."

There was some outcry against this, but Zander was unrelenting. "Apparently you don't realize just how serious the situation is becoming. These measures are being taken for your safety, and we may well have to tighten security even further in the coming years. So be good little soldiers and bear with us.

"Anyway! That being said, you'll be happy to know that it is now time to eat. If you need anything in the coming weeks, don't hesitate to come up to my office." He turned and pointed to the enormous staircase on the northern side of the hall. "Curfew's at ten!" he added, and then without further ceremony took his seat, and Luke turned to the table, frowning because it was empty. "Where's the food?" he asked Jackson.

"There!" cried the other boy, grinning, and if his knees had not been firmly beneath the table Luke would have leaped to his feet as dozens—hundreds—of very small people appeared as though out of thin air, bearing large platters, flatware, silverwear, and napkins, and went about setting the tables with fluid ease. The tallest of them would hardly have reached Luke's waist, and their skin hung baggy on their narrow frames; enormous shining eyes bulged from their skulls above long noses, and their large flapping ears resembled those of bats. They were all dressed rather shabbily, from potato sacks to sewn-together napkins that looked used, with the odd sock or glove, but all were smiling brightly and greeted the students as they went about their work.

"House-elves!" breathed Jackson in wonder, leaning closer to Luke as one of the creatures hopped onto the bench beside him to deal out plates like cards from a deck. "Dad's told me about them! They do all the work around the school."

A little shaken but interested, Luke watched the House-elves set the tables; it was like a dance, each little team moving in the perfect synchrony of long practice, and Luke saw that many of the upper-term students were able to greet some of the elves by name. It was altogether a very entertaining and amiable display and by the time the lids were lifted from the platters Luke was in high spirits and ready to eat.

The welcome dinner consisted of more fried chicken than Luke had ever seen, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, bowls of steamed vegetables, and mountainous fruit salads. Luke had somehow not expected such familiar food and found it a great comfort, as did the other first-terms with which they shared their table. Only Dancy did not seem disposed to enjoy herself, nibbling rather morosely at vegetables and fruit.

When the food was gone the gathering dissolved into happy conversation. Luke leaned his elbows on the table, feeling very content as he listened to Jackson argue Quidditch tactics with the boy on his other side, and not even Dancy's moodiness could affect him. He wanted to go and see the Joining Glade that Dave had mentioned, but soon gave up on any motivation to move, watching the sun set over the western rim of the bowl that held Emerald Hill. Candles appeared, hovering in the air well above the tables and casting a warm glow throughout the hall.

Outside, when they finally left, there were fireflies dancing along the paths and through the overgrown meadows, and with those golden twinkles below and the silver stars above, Luke, Jackson, and Dancy made their way back to the dormitories.

Dancy muttered something by way of farewell and disappeared at once into the Dragon dorm. Luke was going to say something about writing a letter when suddenly he and Jackson were overcome by a wave of people, recognizable at once as the Day quintuplets and an older boy who could only be their brother. "Hey!" said Andromeda breathlessly, and in the lamplight of the courtyard Luke could only tell her from her siblings by the fact that she was addressing them. "These are my brothers and sisters! That's Charon—he's a fourth-term. And this is Paris, and Theia, and Psyche, and Aristaeus." She pointed at the other quintuplets as she said the names, but all Luke truly absorbed was an impression of beauty and exuberance. All of the Day children were built with delicacy and grace, and their perfect manners spoke of their affluent upbringing.

"I was hoping to get a picture of all of us," said Andromeda, hanging onto Luke's arm. "Just to send home to our parents."

"Oh!" said Luke. "Could I have a copy, then, too? I want to show it to my brother."

"Of course!" Andromeda looked enormously pleased at the notion. "Charon will just take two, one for you. Would you like one, Jack?"

Jackson looked overwhelmed, but nodded, and Andromeda smiled at her older brother. "Three, then, Charon?"

"Three," agreed the older boy, and held up a large, cumbersome-looking camera. "Everyone smile!"

* * *

_Dear Mark:_

_I'm here at Emerald Hill. It's a really great place. There are statues everywhere that look like they could be alive. There's this circle of big statues with all the herald animals of Emerald Hill and everyone has to go through the circle and get chosen by one of the animals, and I'm a kitsune. That's sort of like a fox with a lot of tails. I love it here already. It's time for bed but I'll send this letter tomorrow with one of the school owls, since Jack's owl isn't big enough to fly yet. Here's a picture. These are my new friends. That's me and Jackson, and there beside me is a girl named Andi (I can't spell her real name) and those are her brothers and sisters with us. They're all really nice. See how the picture moves? All pictures move here, even the paintings. Andi's big brother took it with a special magic camera he got for his birthday. Anyway, our classes start on Monday and I'll write again sometime soon to tell you all about it._

_Luke_

* * *

Luke tucked the letter beneath his pillow, to be sent the following day. The room was filled with the soft susurrant sound of nine boys breathing, a gentle white noise that made a very pleasant atmosphere for sleeping. But Luke lay awake for a time, listening, watching the blue-checked curtains flutter in the warm August breeze and the tip of Grimalkin's tail twitch across the sheet as she slept.


	8. Eight

There was something of a commotion in a corner of the Den when Luke descended in the morning, and he was somehow not surprised to hear a familiar voice at the center of it. Andromeda Day sat at one of the long tables, surrounded by other students of all terms, and was chatting happily as she scribbled something on a piece of parchment. In one of her frequent glances around the group, her eyes swept across Luke and then fixed there, and he felt strangely honored, as well as embarrassed, when she smiled widely and immediately began packing her things; the other students watched as she crossed the Den to meet him, carrying an expensive-looking leather shoulder bag.

"Are you ready?" she asked, breathless with excitement. "Today we have Botany, History, Charms, and Transfiguration. The greenhouses are behind White Hall."

Several other first-term students had trailed along in her wake and Luke saw by their badges that they were also sky kitsunes, and so were to be his classmates. For a moment they all regarded each other in silence, but Andromeda was full of energy and soon propelled them along, through the anteroom and out the front doors into the early morning sunshine. Botany was to begin at eight-o'clock; History of Magic was scheduled for ten, Charms for one-thirty in the afternoon, and Transfiguration for three. Each class was to last for only an hour, being that they would meet three times a week. On Tuesdays and Thursdays they were to have three classes—Chemistry at nine, Defense Against the Dark Arts at eleven, and Beginning Flying at two, and these classes, held twice a week, would last an hour and a half. It was a schedule unlike any Luke had been accustomed to in his previous schools, but he was prepared to like it.

He watched Andromeda wryly as they walked, for she kept up a train of happy discourse. She did not seem to require the input of anyone else but all the same kept them involved with constant glances, and they could not help but be attentive. She had become immediately popular without apparent effort, and Luke had always felt a sort of helpless jealousy for people with that ability, though it was difficult to hold anything against someone so cheerful and good-natured as Andromeda. She did not seem anything like her housemates, for Luke had discovered that most of the Kitsune students were like him, thoughtful and reticent, introverts, and that was the opposite of Andromeda's bright and effusive personality. But they loved her anyway, at once and without calculation.

It was a warm morning and Luke felt uncomfortable in his robes, but bore them without complaint. He was nervous about his first class. Botany sounded innocuous enough—he had looked up the word to be sure of its meaning and upon discovering that it was the study of plants had been somewhat disappointed, expecting something more exotic, but now that class was imminent he began to wonder what sort of plants wizards would want to study. _There are magical animals in the world_, he reasoned, _so there must be magical plants_.

The group, which had grown since they left the dormitory as they fell in with other students heading for the greenhouses, mounted the steps of White Hall and crossed its marble floors. On either side of the enormous staircase on the far side were large double-doors and it was there that they headed, and Luke felt confident because he and Jackson had searched out their classrooms beforehand. The doors opened onto a meadow that looked like something out of a children's storybook.

There were four large greenhouses nestled into the grassy area between the back of White Hall and the nearly-vertical mountainside that rose to such a height above them that it made Luke dizzy if he looked up there for too long. There were no trees here, for the greenhouses needed all the sun they could get, and mirrors had been fastened to the rock wall behind them to reflect and augment the sunlight when it was weaker during the winter. The greenhouses themselves were made of iron bars that appeared to have been twisted and fastened together at random, making for oddly-shaped panes of glass between them, some larger than Luke and others no larger than his hand. Dust and pollen and seeds on their fluffy parachutes danced in the still air, and the ubiquitous climbing vines obscured the sides of the greenhouses, here and there having broken through the glass to explore the interiors. The glass was scrubbed clean on the tops of the greenhouses but on the sides was streaked and dirty, nearly opaque, so that Luke caught only glimpses of the activity inside.

Well-worn paths through the scrub and scraggly grass led to each of the greenhouses, and the sky kitsunes made their way to Greenhouse One, along with several royal unicorn students, with whom they would be sharing this class. The greenhouse door had an enormous, ancient-looking latch that was presently hanging open and Andromeda pushed through without hesitation, leaving the others to follow.

The air inside was humid and rather stuffy, but Luke hardly noticed, so fantastic were the sights. The floor was carpeted entirely in dark green vines as thick as a finger that everywhere sprouted tiny cup-shaped yellow flowers that opened and closed as though with a will; the long desks were solid, rough-hewn stone with sunken sinks, half-overgrown with moss and lichens; along the eastern wall stood a row of clay pots each sprouting a single flower on a single stalk, larger than Luke's head with waxy, translucent petals that gave off a heady aroma. But the most fantastic sight of all was one that shocked Luke—at the northern end of the greenhouse, growing up between the vines, were several mushrooms of truly gigantic proportions, and upon one of these was perched a small man, watching the students with interest. _Just like I imagined_, he thought, and grinned widely.

There were no chairs and so the students filed in behind the rows of stone, some pulling out their Botany textbooks, all looking expectantly at the figure on the mushroom. At length the little man extended a long narrow finger and counted the students silently, and they must all have been present for then he stood, and his wispy white hair flew around his head like a cloud. The mushroom wobbled gently as he walked to its end and hopped lightly to the floor, and he stood behind a boulder that apparently was to serve as his desk.

"I am Doctor Kelvin Danderben," he said in a high, reedy voice, and looked at them imperiously through gold-rimmed spectacles. "This is Botany I. You are first-term students, and I am your professor. Throughout this year you will learn about the various magical plants in our world and their properties and uses. You will each need to purchase the following items from the school store: heavy gardening gloves. A trowel. Safety goggles. Earmuffs. A snorkel." He ticked off the items on his long fingers as he spoke, and the students scrambled for parchment and quills to make their lists.

"Um," said one of the unicorn students, "mister...I mean Doctor, Danderben...why a snorkel, sir?"

The man looked surprised. "We have a pond, do we not? Do you think it's there for decoration? There are cultures, my boy, carefully tended! We'll examine them all. Now, as I was saying...snorkels. Aprons. There's a lot of hands-on work on this class, and you'll not be required to wear your robes while inside the greenhouse. Too messy."

They spent the remainder of the class discussing those magical plants that the students could think of; Luke had not heard of any of them, but listened intently and took careful notes. Flipping through the textbook, he was stunned at the sheer profusion of plants with magical properties. Some of them were plants that he knew, that would be perfectly ordinary in the hands of a Muggle but could be used by a wizard to accomplish wonderful things, and others were things he had not even imagined. There were plants to be used as medicines and plants to be used in potions, plants to ward off certain creatures and plants that were active guardians, bug-catching plants and mice-catching plants, sentient plants that made quite decent neighbors, plants to eat and plants to wear, plants that grew as slowly as glaciers and plants that could swallow a house overnight, plants that sang in the moonlight and plants that made one amphibious for a time. It was fascinating. Doctor Danderben was a gruff sort of man but clearly passionate about his work, and enjoyed the questions of his students that showed they were taking an interest.

The students emerged from the greenhouse rather damp from the humidity but exhilarated. There was an hour break before their next class and so the sky kitsunes went _en masse_ to the school store, a brick building on the western edge of campus, to purchase the items the professor had listed for them. There were indeed snorkels available—something about which there had been some concern among the students—and a great variety of garden gloves and aprons from which to choose. Luke was not picky, but Andromeda spent nearly fifteen minutes deciding between different gloves.

The group ate a brief breakfast together in White Hall, and Luke was becoming more relaxed around them. He liked the fact that they would be a constant in his life, sharing all of his classes until they reached the upper years and started taking more specialized courses. _Like Arithmancy_, he reminded himself. _What could that be? Sounds sort of like arithmetic...but how can math be magical?_ The very idea was strangely thrilling, that there were magical components to all of the mundane things he had known as a Muggle.

_No_, he had to remind himself, _I was never a Muggle._

Their next class was History at ten, which was held in one of the mountainside classrooms. It was built like any classroom Luke had known in his previous schools, but there were no windows, and one wall was the solid rock of the mountain. It was cooler there and they had actual desks, old and well-worn, and the teacher stood at a chalkboard. To Luke's surprise the History teacher was a young man with bright eyes, named Gregory Finnegan. He handed out rolls of parchment on which were written what he called a _syllabus_—"Basically, all the stuff we'll be talking about this year," he told them with a grin.

Luke glanced over the list, which was constructed like an outline, and saw words like _goblin rebellion_ and _post-Druidal era _and _witch burnings_, and realized with a jolt of self-admonishment that this was a history of _magic_. For whatever reason that had not previously occurred to him, and he had to smile at his own ineptitude in this new world. _Everything involves magic_, he told himself firmly.

Doctor Finnegan was dressed rather shabbily but had an energetic manner and a smile that put the students at ease. He informed them that there would be a research project involved with the curriculum, but they would have the entire year to complete it. "And I have to say this," he added. "This project isn't the sort of thing you should leave till the last minute. Believe me, I can tell the difference between someone who started in December and someone who threw it together in the last week of classes. So I'll be requiring a list of partners and potential topics by the midpoint of the semester—around the middle of October. Keep it in the back of your minds."

In the margin of his curriculum, Luke wrote carefully, _a history of muggle-wizard relations_. Andromeda, sitting beside him, noticed this and gave him an encouraging smile, and then leaned over to write beneath this: _partners?_ Her script was an elegant cursive, making Luke's scrawling look clumsy in comparison. Luke pretended to consider for a moment, which made Andromeda giggle silently, but of course he agreed.

"Oh!" cried Finnegan as the students were gathering their things at the end of class. "I almost forgot to mention—I'm also Emerald Hill's Quidditch coach. Unfortunately you can't join the J.V. team until your second term, but I expect to see you all at the games regardless."

"What's J.V.?" Luke asked Dave Cavanaugh as they left the classroom.

"Junior Varsity," Dave replied at once, smiling. "First thing next term, I'm definitely trying out. My sister's taught me a few things on her broom already."

Luke felt a surge of impatience, knowing that his first Beginning Flying class was not until afternoon of the next day.

With two and a half hours until their final class of the day, and not yet being hungry again, Luke and Andromeda found their way to the Joining Glade, where he had promised to meet Jackson. The other boy was already there when they arrived, and Luke laughed aloud to see him—Jackson was standing on the back of the statue of a gryphon in mid-flight, and had pulled up one of the vines twining up its legs to use as a bridle as though he were standing on the creature as it flew. He had one arm thrown above his head and was whooping at the top of his voice, and when he saw Luke he waved wildly.

"Luke!" he shouted across the meadow. "Isn't this place the best?"

Luke was inclined to agree. The large clearing was filled with life-sized statues of Emerald Hill's heraldic animals, built to appear to be interacting with one another, and the effect was stunning. A unicorn leapt playfully over the back of a reclining sphinx which batted a huge paw lazily in its direction; a dragon looked in annoyance at the kitsunes that darted between its legs; a mother gryphon watching over her clutch of eggs screeched a warning to a nearby phoenix. They were everywhere, each animal represented several times, and though the relationships between them seemed somewhat tense, the students scattered among the meadow were at ease.

"They're so beautiful," breathed Andromeda, kneeling beside a kitsune to stroke its stone fur.

"Are they sculpted by magic?" asked Luke, running a hand over the scales of a dragon's leg. "They look so real."

Andromeda shook her head. "Using magic to sculpt is considered cheating," she told him. "They think it reduces the art, or something. You can't submit a piece unless it's checked a hundred times for any sort of tampering. But once they accept it, you can put charms on it to preserve it, so it doesn't fall apart or wear down over time."

Luke was surprised. "Where'd you learn all that?"

Andromeda blushed prettily. "I draw a little," she admitted. "I'm not much good at sculpting, though. But it's interesting."

Jackson came dashing over to them, his face red with excitement. "Luke!" he yelled, more loudly than the distance between them would merit, "Andi! Guess what!"

"You have twelve toes?" guessed Andromeda.

"Uh, you lost a bet and have to walk around naked all day tomorrow?" put in Luke.

"Nope!" The humor of the guesses was lost on Jackson in his present state. "I had Beginning Flying this morning, and _I'm good at it!_"

This set off a lengthy discussion between the boys about what it was like to actually sit on a broom, how you made it fly, whether it was hard to keep one's balance in the air, and so on. To their surprise Andromeda was an avid participant and proved herself knowledgeable on all things about brooms, which visibly heightened Jackson's already high opinion of the girl. They made their way to lunch still talking, talked throughout the taco salad and bean dip, and talked right up to the point where they would have to separate again. Jackson was off to his first session of Botany, and Luke and Andromeda were heading for Charms.

Charms was held in a ground-level classroom just outside of the mountain, and it was a large and airy room with a high ceiling. Their teacher was straightening files on her desk when they entered, and she looked up with a slow smile; she was African-American, Luke's first experience with such a teacher, with lovely wide-set eyes and hair done all in tiny braids, gathered into a thick ponytail that hung down her back. She introduced herself as Doctor Meribell Plemmons and struck Luke as a quiet, gentle person. _Maybe she was a kitsune when she went here_, he thought.

"In my experience," said Plemmons after making sure they all had their textbooks, "you can only learn so much about Charms from studying. You could read all day about a certain wand movement, but how do you truly know how to move the want until you try it yourself? This is my approach to the class. We will not spend our class time reading passages from the book—that will be your homework. While you are here, you will learn by doing."

And she proceeded immediately to teach them the basics of their first Charm. Luke was excited to learn that it was the same charm, in a less powerful form, that Mr Parker had used to lift him from his beanbag chair the night that he and Jackson had received their letters. It was called Light Levitation, and was accomplished by both a certain wand movement and an incantation that had to be said just so. The students were all enthusiastic to pull out their wands—especially the sky kitsunes, who had had no such excuse yet that day—and with equal enthusiasm attempted to Levitate bits of braided yarn that were provided. Only a few had some success, including Luke, who to his vast and overwhelming delight was able (after overcoming self-consciousness about saying the incantation with confidence) to raise his bit of yarn several inches into the air and hold it there for a few seconds. Plemmons praised his efforts but Luke hardly heard her; he was too busy enjoying the triumphant fanfare in his head.

Transfiguration, which the sky kitsunes were to have with the gold gryphons, was also held in a classroom, on the third story of a building on the western side of campus, and its several tall windows filled the room with bright light. There were long tables arranged in an orderly row facing a simple desk at the front, and the walls were lined with shelves filled, alongside hundreds of books, with seemingly random objects: teapots, a large cage of white mice, old sneakers, colored glass bottles, display cases of insects, toothbrushes, extension cords, and so on.

Their teacher did not appear for a few moments, and the students flipped through their textbooks and wondered aloud what would be the first thing they would try to Transfigure, all the while keeping one eye on the classroom's second door, which was marked with a brass plaque as being the professor's office. _Dr A. J. Yancey_, it read, _Beginning and Intermediate Transfiguration_.

When at last the door opened they all looked up expectantly, but Luke's mouth fell open, for he recognized the woman—she had yellow hair and green eyes and the same pleasant smile he remembered from the terrifying experience he and Jackson had had on the streets of New York. She did not appear to notice him, but greeted the class in her low, melodic voice. "I am Doctor Alice Yancey," she said. "Welcome to Transfiguration. This was always my favorite subject in school, and I hope you'll all come to enjoy it as well. Now, to begin, let's call the roll to make sure we're all here."

She read the names carefully, accepting with grace any corrections in pronunciation, pausing to glance warmly at each student before reading the next name. When she looked at Luke her eyes lingered a little longer, and one corner of her mouth twitched in a slightly wider smile than what she was already wearing. Luke was somehow relieved that she remembered him.

When the roll was done she put down her clipboard and leaned against the front of her desk, tapping a long wand idly against her leg. "Can anyone tell me what Transfiguration is?" she asked.

Several students raised their hands and she nodded at one, a girl in the front row. "It's the magic of changing something to something else," said the girl.

"That's precisely right," said Yancey. "As you might guess, it's a very complicated branch of magic, and there's a lot that can go wrong. For instance, suppose that I were to change this desk into a lion."

She swept her wand and suddenly her desk _was_ a lion, massive and alive with twitching tail, looking around as though curious as to how he had gotten there. The students gasped and several rose nervously to their feet, but Yancey continued to lean against the lion, unperturbed. "If something went wrong and the desk got stuck halfway to being a lion, you'd have one strange and entirely _unuseful_ result...as well as trouble with the ASPCA." Many students got the joke and grinned. "Therefore," the woman continued, and changed the lion back to her desk with another sweep-and-tap of her wand, "Transfiguration requires a lot of discipline, which, unfortunately for you, means a lot of studying."

There were some groans but she waved them away with a smile. "An expert Transfiguror can change almost anything into almost anything. It all has to do with understanding the properties of a thing, how it's made and why it acts the way that it does, and knowing the spells to tell it how to act differently." She glanced at the clipboard (which had miraculously kept its place on the desk throughout the lion transition). "Henrietta Stone, will you please bring me one of those shoes?"

Henrietta, another sky kitsune, stood and moved self-consciously to the shelves, retrieving one of the battered old sneakers and handing it to the professor. "Thank you, Henrietta," said Yancey with another gracious smile, and then held up the sneaker for all to see. "Look carefully at this shoe," she said, "and tell me everything you observe about it. Go ahead, call it out."

"It's old." said one student.

"It's a boy's."

"The lace is broken."

"It's made of leather."

"And rubber!"

Yancey was nodding. "Very good. Now, how does it act when I touch it?" She pressed her fingers against the soft side of the shoe, and they moved it.

"It bends," said Luke, and Yancey tipped a finger in his direction.

"Exactly! It's pliable, not stiff—I can bend it all over the place." She demonstrated. "It's flexible. But suppose I wanted to turn this shoe into a shoe-shaped stone. What is a stone like?"

"It's hard."

"And rough."

"It doesn't bend."

"Just so," said Yancey. "To turn this shoe into a stone, I have to tell the stuff it's made of to act differently. I have to tell its particles to be particles of stone, not of leather and rubber and cloth. The spells we use in Transfiguration aren't really commands...they're more like instructions. I have to teach the particles of this shoe how to be stone."

She held it up on her fingertips and moved the wand again, pursing her lips, and then the shoe was made of stone, as though someone had carved it meticulously. Yancey rapped on it with her knuckles to prove its solidity and passed it around the classroom so that everyone could examine it. Luke turned it over in his hands; it was heavy and quite hard—not just a shoe that acted like stone, but a real stone.

"As you can see, Transfiguration isn't illusion—it's not about making something _look_ like something it's not. Transfiguring literally changes one thing into another. My desk, a moment ago, was not just a lion-shaped desk, it was truly a lion. Do you see why Transfiguration is so complicated?"

Luke nodded along with the rest. He was completely fascinated.

"Now, like any subject, some of you will be better at Transfiguration than others—just like some students are more natural flyers, or others take immediately to the formulas of Chemistry. But, like any subject, all of you are capable of learning Transfiguration if you put your mind to it, just like any witch or wizard can learn to handle a broom or memorize formulas. So if you find this class difficult at first, just keep at it. There are several upper-term students who hold tutoring sessions, so I would suggest that anyone who struggles take advantage of that. And of course, I'll always be here to help."

At the end of class she handed out their first assignment—a ballpoint pen for each student. "Think about this pen," she told them, "and write down everything you know about it, absolutely everything. Think about why it is the way that it is, what it's made of and how those components act in this world. Then I want you to think about a pencil. Write down everything you know about a pencil, the same you did for the pen. On Wednesday we'll talk about how to go about teaching a pen to be a pencil."

"What do you think?" asked Andromeda as they headed toward the stairwell and the exit.

"I loved it," said Luke honestly. He was still looking at the pen he had been given, turning it in his hands, wondering about the particles that made it. "It's my favorite so far."

"Not mine. I liked Charms. It feels like _real_ magic, you know? Real spells."

All in all it was a very successful and satisfying day. During the time left before dinner Luke set about making his list about the pen while Andromeda read from her Charms textbook, and Jackson found them there in White Hall. "What a day!" he announced, and sat down heavily. "I had Charms, Beginning Flying, Botany, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. I can't believe we don't have any classes together for this whole _year_."

"You have Transfiguration tomorrow?" asked Luke.

"Yeah, first thing in the morning. Why?"

"You'll never guess who the teacher is."

Jackson was duly surprised to find that their rescuer was an Emerald Hill professor, and looked forward to that class with renewed interest. "What's her name?" he asked, and Luke told him. "I'm gonna walk in tomorrow and say hi like we're old pals. You don't think she'd get mad, right?"

"No way. She's nice."

"Good. Anyway, it'll really knock old Chester for a loop. Have you met Chester? He's one of my roommates."

"What were you doing in New York?" asked Andromeda. "Out on the streets, I mean. That's so dangerous!"

"We just wanted to mail a letter," said Jackson dismissively. "To Luke's big brother. Now, Chester—"

"You were Muggle-raised, right?" Andromeda was looking very carefully at Luke. "Your brother isn't a wizard?"

"No, he's a Muggle. He lives in North Carolina." Luke shifted uneasily under her stare. "What?"

"What do you write him letters about?"

"I dunno, stuff."

"Like _this_ stuff? Emerald Hill stuff?"

"Yeah, of course. He's my brother, Andi."

"How old is he?"

"Eighteen. He—"

"And your parents?"

"They're dead, okay? What's the big deal?" Luke was growing defensive, and a little nervous, under her solemn scrutiny.

Andromeda sat back, folding her arms. "Luke, you're not supposed to tell him about this stuff. It's a security risk. My mom works for the Admin, you know, and there's all sorts of stuff we can't say to Muggle relatives these days. They're not even supposed to know where Red River is."

"But why not?"

"Because of You-Know-Who," she said simply and, to Luke's mind, absurdly. "The Death Eaters. They could find your brother and torture him to make him tell them everything he knows—"

"Wait." Luke held up a hand. "I don't get it. Who's You-Know-Who? _I _don't know who."

Both Andromeda and Jackson stared at him, and then Jackson nodded. "I keep forgetting you don't know," he said.

"You don't?"

They all looked up at the new voice and Luke recognized Zoë Fratelli, the fifth-term kitsune. She had apparently been walking past but had stopped to hear their conversation. "You don't know about the Dark Lord?" she said, looking hard at Luke, who shook his head, vaguely frightened. With a sigh, Zoë sat beside Jackson.

"You-Know-Who's a wizard...I mean, we think he is. But he's bad. Like, the worst there is. Serial killer. He hates organized magic, wants to destroy it and take over the world, or something...we're not completely sure what he wants, but it's nothing good."

Luke was ready to scoff, but neither Andromeda nor Jackson were smiling. "It's true, Luke," said Zoë. "Remember what Principal Zander said about Dark activity, why we can't go to Red River without a teacher? It's because Emerald Hill might be a target. These are _very bad people_. They go after magic officials, people in the government, but they use whoever they can to get to them...relatives, friends, co-workers. They torture and kill. This is for real. That's why we have a class called Defense Against the Dark Arts—it's exactly what it sounds like. It teaches us how to defend ourselves if the school is ever under attack."

Luke was quiet, stunned by this new knowledge. _Everything involves magic_, he thought, _and everything can be good or bad. If you can heal people with magic, you can kill them with magic._

And on the heels of this: _Oh, what have I gotten myself into?_


	9. Nine

_Dear Mark:_

_I don't think I can write to you anymore. It turns out that there's a bad side of magic, too, and there's this guy called the Dark Lord who might attack our school. I'm not supposed to be telling you any of this, but I thought you might want to know. It might be dangerous. I hope I haven't gotten you in trouble by writing these letters. If the government (I mean the magical government) found out that I'd told you all this stuff, I could be in really big trouble. This is serious stuff. Please don't be mad at me, but you might want to be careful._

_I miss you. Jack says hi._

_Luke_

* * *

Jackson went with him to the owlry. His Great Grey Owl chick, still unnamed, was there, still in a nest below its assigned perch but eyeing the perch with interest. Jackson tossed it a few dead mice he had bought at the pet supplies shop that abutted the school store, which it swallowed with gusto. Since the chick could not yet fly they had to use one of the school owls, and Luke chose one that he thought would be least intimidating to his brother, tying the letter carefully to its leg.

"Be nice to him, okay?" he told the owl, stroking its neck for a moment before letting it fly, and watched it until it had disappeared eastward over the rim of the valley.

"Does he ever write back?" asked Jackson from behind him.

Luke shook his head slowly. "Nope."

* * *

Chemistry was at eight-o'clock in the morning and Luke and Andi made their way through the western wing of White Hall to the doors at its end, which led to the tunnel classrooms. An upper-term student had told them that the Chemistry labs had to be in the tunnels so that they could be sealed off if any reaction went bad, which Luke only half-believed. Unlike the mountainside classrooms, which looked like any building except without windows, these corridors and classrooms were actual tunnels, with walls and ceiling of carved rock and cobbled stone floors, lit by torches in the walls that reminded Luke of a Medieval dungeon.

He had forgotten that Heath Lunsford was the Chemistry teacher until they entered the classroom and saw him there, his robes exchanged for a neat white lab coat. He smiled at Luke and gave a little wave, which Luke appreciated, and he and Andromeda found seats at the front of the room, behind long black tables with sunken sinks.

When all the students had filed in and found seats, Lunsford pushed his safety goggles up onto his forehead and smiled again, and Luke heard several students suck in their breaths quietly as they saw his scar for the first time. "Welcome to Beginning Chemistry," he said in his careful voice. "My name is Lunsford. I trust you've all brought your kits?"

Luke, along with the rest, hauled the briefcase-sized kit onto the table in front of him. He had opened it immediately upon purchasing it and had been astounded by the gleaming glass tubes and beakers of all shapes and sizes, tongs with obscure purposes, an old-fashioned mortar and pestle (of which he knew the names from his history class the previous year in his Muggle school, and was proud).

"Good," said Lunsford. "Let's go over its components and figure out what each one is, shall we?"

This took up most of the class. Lunsford, asserting that Chemistry (or Potions as it was sometimes called) was a strictly physical science used to bring about magical reactions, demonstrated the use of such Muggle instruments as a Bunsen burner and centrifuge. "This is a very old science," he told them, "and even Muggles could do it, if they had the right ingredients. There's nothing magical about the process itself, only in the results that it produces."

Luke found this appealing. There were, of course, potions that would require certain incantations to reach full potency, and the vast majority of the formulas required magical ingredients, but the idea that no magic at all could produce magical results made Luke feel more confident. Despite his success with levitation the previous day, he was still nervous about performing real magic.

He approached the desk after class, with Andromeda following curiously behind, and greeted Lunsford. "Well, Lucas," said the man, "how was your first day of classes?"

"It was great," he said with feeling. "I like Transfiguration best."

"Really? Huh, a lot of Kitsunes seem to have trouble with the methodical approach that Transfiguration requires. They're more intuitive." He smiled again, and then turned to Andromeda. "Another Miss Day. The only one I haven't met yet is Andromeda, so that must be you."

Andromeda shook his hand, strangely appearing rather shy. "Do you like working down here?" she asked. "It's so dark."

Lunsford gave a little shrug. "I like working with the potions, and this is where the potions must reside. I know it's not very cheerful, but that doesn't mean we can't enjoy ourselves. What do you two have for the rest of the day?"

"Defense and Beginning Flying," said Luke. "I can't wait to try a broom."

"Let's hope you're better at it than me. Never could stay on a broom for more than a few minutes."

As they left, on their way to their next class, Andromeda was smiling. "He's so strange," she said.

"What do you mean?" Lunsford seemed perfectly normal to Luke, aside from the scar.

"I don't know. Don't you think he's sad? He seems sad to me."

Luke pondered this, but did not see whatever sadness Andromeda seemed to perceive.

There was an entire building dedicated to Defense Against the Dark Arts, between White Hall and the Coulter Building where Transfiguration was held. It was called Bastion—or, more commonly, _the _Bastion—there was one floor dedicated to each year of study, four of those stories being underground. The first-term students were on the uppermost floor, which to Luke's surprise was divided into only two rooms: a very large space in which their classes were to be conducted, and a sectioned-off area in one corner that served as office for the professor. There were very few windows. The floor was half carpeted and half tile, and there were gym mattresses stacked against one wall and an odd-looking platform in the center of the tiled area.

"Leave your things there," said a voice, and a man came striding across the room. He was pointing to the wall beside the door, and there they saw hooks and cubbies. The students did as instructed and approached the man in a cautious group, toward the center of the large open floor. As they walked, Luke saw with some surprise that the girl Dancy was among them—apparently the Royal Dragon students were sharing this class with the Sky Kitsunes. She glanced his way and Luke started to wave, but she looked away again just as quickly.

Their Defense teacher was tall and severe-looking, at sharp contrast with his shock of carrot-colored hair, and he tapped his wand against his other palm in a slow, vaguely menacing rhythm. "Abernathy," he said by way of introduction. "This is where your real instruction begins.

"This is the important part. All that other stuff, what they teach you there—" he took in the rest of Emerald Hill with the sweep of an arm—"means nothing when you're face-to-face with a Death Eater. They're out there, and if you give 'em the chance, they'll take you down. Do you know what that means?" He glared at them for a moment. "It means you'd better know how to take care of yourself, that's what it means."

He made them practice their stances, which Luke discovered was how to hold one's wand, ready for attack and defense. He showed them ways to stand more steadily, and took them over to the strange platform, which turned out to be on hydraulic springs that he could make to tilt this way and that, and had each student stand on it and keep a flashlight pointed at a certain place on the wall to see how well they could hold a target on unsteady terrain.

"There are thousands of hexes," he told them near the end of class, "and there are a select few that we actually teach to our students here. The Administration is of the opinion that the best defense is a good offense, as they say." He smiled without humor. "There are more basics we need to learn first, but I want everyone to start researching the Disarming Hex. I'll demonstrate. You!" he said imperiously, and the boy he pointed at stepped forward. "Hold out your wand. Stance!"

The boy took up the stance they had been taught, visibly concentrating on his balance. Abernathy took on the same stance, but with a quick, fluid grace that Luke would not have expected from his lanky angular body. Then, without warning: "_Expelliarmus!_" he cried with a snap of his wand, and with the sound of a sharp _crack!_ the boy's wand flew from his hand, tumbling across the floor.

As the boy trotted to retrieve his wand, Abernathy sheathed his own and addressed the class once more. "By Christmas, you'll all be performing that hex flawlessly. That's not a promise—that's an order. But to begin, read up on it. There's plenty in your textbook to keep you occupied till Thursday."

Andromeda's face was alight as they exited the building. "It's so exciting!" she said, actually turning a pirouette on the brick walk. "I'm so glad they have that class, aren't you? We'll learn so many useful things."

Luke nodded; he, too, was genuinely glad that such a class was both available and taken so seriously by the staff. He had been shaken to the core by the revelation of the existence of a Dark Lord, and resolved to put a lot of effort into his Defense classes. For whatever reason, when he thought of this, he thought of his brother.

At lunch in White Hall they met up with Jackson, who was elated from having spent a class with his uncle. "Uncle Heath's such a great teacher," he said around mouthfuls of baked macaroni and cheese. "He knows everything! I bet he could teach any class he wanted to."

To pass the time until their afternoon class, the three of them wandered toward the Varsity Quidditch field. Luke had previously only seen it from above and was stunned, once upon it, to realize the sheer size of it—twice or more the size of a football field, the grass carefully shorn but with no painted lines, only the rearing pegasus sigil of Emerald Hill painted in the exact center. There were students scattered throughout the stands, studying or talking or just relaxing, and as he looked up at the fifty-foot-high golden goal hoops, Luke imagined, with a thrill in his stomach, what it would be like to soar through the air above that field, crossing it in a flash with the crowd roaring.

"I want to be a Seeker," said Jackson as they sat on the sunny grass. "I'm small, so I could be really fast, and Seekers need to be fast. What about you, Luke?"

"Keeper," he said at once. "I want to be able to sit back and see everything, to guard the goals. I don't know if I'll be quick enough to block, though."

"Well, maybe not yet," said Andromeda with a smile, "but you're only eleven."

"Ten," he corrected her. "My birthday's in December."

"Ten, then. By the time you're old enough for Varsity, you'll be able to handle those goals, no problem."

Luke looked speculatively up at the five-foot-diameter hoops high above them. "I hope so. Is the Junior Varsity field much smaller?"

"Nah," said Jackson. "They just lower the posts and move them in a bit. It's supposed to keep us from flying too fast or too high before we get really good." He was talking as though they had already reached their second term and made the J.V. team, which made Luke smile.

Eventually, the time finally arrived for Beginning Flying. Jackson headed off for his final class of the day, which was History of Magic. Since class was to be held on the field, Luke and Andromeda simply waited there for the rest of their class to arrive, which they did, most of them in a group following a small woman, who with the help of an upper-term assistant was hauling brooms onto the field from the locker room beneath the stands where they were kept between classes. The first-term students watched eagerly as the woman and her assistant set the brooms out on the grass in two long lines, and then the woman looked at them with a bright smile. She had coppery-brown hair and wore silver bracelets on her wrists that jingled musically.

"Hello!" she called, and the students responded. "My name is Michelle Finnegan. By now you've all met my husband, Gregory Finnegan."

"Aww!" whispered Andromeda, charmed.

"He's the Quidditch coach here at Emerald Hill, and I am the Quidditch instructor. You'll be taking classes with me through your third term, and longer if you so desire. As you may or may not know, I was a Chaser with the Stars and Stripes, America's national Quidditch team, for several years until my injury."

She lifted the hem of her robes and Luke was shocked to see that she had a wooden leg. "I was in a car accident while driving to visit my grandparents—they're Muggles, obviously—and unfortunately I was taken to a Muggle hospital, where all they could do for me was to amputate my leg. They saved my life, but I'm no longer eligible to play on the professional circuit. However, I still know pretty much everything there is to know about flying a broom, and if you're willing, I'll share that knowledge."

Luke added his voice to the enthusiastic reply, and the students fanned out so that each was standing beside one of the brooms on the grass. Luke looked down at the one that had fallen to him; it looked quite ordinary, laying there as if pretending very hard that it did not have the potential to carry him through the air.

Michelle Finnegan instructed them to hold their wand hands out over the brooms (Luke stepped to the other side of his so as to hold out his left hand) and command them, _Up!_ It sounded ridiculously simple, and so Luke was amazed when his broom popped up from the ground, hesitated for a moment in the air, and then floated almost lazily into his hand. It seemed to struggle a bit for a moment, as if it would have liked to keep rising, and then was quiet. Luke's heart was beating very fast. It took some of the others several tries to command their brooms into the air—"You have to _mean _it!" Mrs Finnegan told them again and again—but at last they were given leave to sit upon them.

"This line first," she said, indicating Luke's line, and following her example, he swung one leg over the broom so that he was standing over it as it hovered. He could feel it trembling just slightly and could not help but grin.

"Now, what you'll want to do is just give a little kick. You don't want to jump into the air—just kick forward and up, and concentrate on staying a few feet above the ground. Like so." Mrs Finnegan demonstrated the proper kick several times, and it was terribly exciting to see her sitting comfortably on a broom in midair, and guiding it to the ground again with subtle motions that Luke could not see. Five at a time, she had them try the kick, and left them hovering happily as she moved on to the next five. When the time came Luke did not allow himself to think but gave precisely the kick he had calculated in his head, and felt a curious swooping sensation in his stomach as he did not fall back to the ground as gravity would dictate, but remained in the air, his toes dangling a foot above the grass. Andromeda, too, had succeeded, and they exchanged delighted grins.

As Mrs Finnegan moved on, all sorts of fantasies were running through Luke's mind. He was the Keeper for the Stars and Stripes, patrolling his hoops high in the air and watching the game with a shrewd eye, dodging Bludgers with expert ease and guiding his broom by instinct alone. The opposing team's Chasers were approaching—they had the Quaffle, and if they scored, the Stars and Stripes would be too far behind to win even if they caught the Snitch. Luke leaned forward, every nerve jangling, his broom polished and gleaming and ready to move on the instant to block the goal. The Chaser approached in a sweeping parabola, Quaffle held high, and—

"_Luke!_"

He came to himself with a jolt, and his stomach pitched sickeningly as he saw that the field was now fifteen feet below his dangling toes. "Get down," Andromeda was saying as loudly as she dared. "You'll get in trouble!"

But try as he might, the broom would do nothing for Luke but continue to glide upward and slightly forward, an almost dreamy motion, completely oblivious to Luke's hissed commands and efforts to turn or halt it. Andromeda's stricken face was getting smaller and smaller and now everyone was staring, and watching them Luke began to feel dizzy. The grass blurred and the shouts grew hazy and he clutched his broom tightly, terrified and nauseous and struggling to keep his hold on a reality that had suddenly become slippery.

"Luke—it's Luke, right?"

He managed to focus on Mrs Finnegan, who was flying beside him, completely at ease. She wore a reassuring smile. "Come on, sit up. Grip the broom in front of you with both hands—that's right—and lean forward."

He tried, but nothing happened, and Mrs Finnegan frowned. "Like you _mean_ it, boy!" Again Luke leaned forward, pushing on the front of the broom, but it continued its slow steady rise. Mrs Finnegan reached over and pushed on the broom herself, then shook it slightly. "Huh," she said, "malfunctioning. Alright, then, hop over here and I'll carry you down."

"What?" They were very high indeed now, well above the goal posts, and the thought of 'hopping' from one broom to another made every organ in Luke's body clench. Every time he glanced down he started feeling dizzy again. He tried to keep his eyes on Mrs Finnegan's face. She held out a hand and he took it, gripping so hard that his knuckles turned white, but she made no comment, guiding her broom very close to his. "Just swing your leg over mine, too," she told him, and he tried, but as he did he looked down between the two brooms and felt vomit rising in his throat, and the dizziness overcame him..

For a moment her grip held and the weight of him spun her upside-down in the air, but they were both unprepared for such a thing and Luke's hand, in a horrifying instant that he would remember for the rest of his life, slipped out of hers. She dwindled above him but then she was gone, a flash of motion, and Luke's robes were whipping around so loudly that he could make no sense of the situation except for a vague sense of danger, and then there was a great impact and the wind was knocked out of him.

As he gasped and struggled for breath he became aware of cheers, and his eyes slowly focused on his classmates clapping and shouting. There was a sinking feeling, like an elevator going down, and then suddenly Luke felt that he had weight again and he was sitting on the grass and Mrs Finnegan was kneeling beside him, still smiling but clearly shaken.

"Luke! Luke!" Andromeda almost fell on top of him, so anxious was she to hug him. "Are you alright? What happened? You just...fell!"

"I couldn't see," said Luke slowly, troubled by his roiling stomach. "I feel a little sick."

"Vertigo," said Mrs Finnegan wisely. "You're just a little acrophobic, Luke—you don't do well with heights. Don't worry, we can work on that. It's just unlucky that you ended up with a bad broom. We test them all the time, but this one just cracked."

Luke looked up and saw a tiny speck against the sky, his broom still on its heavenward journey. Mrs Finnegan's assistant was sent to retrieve it, which he could only manage with some difficulty, as it kept wanting to drift upward. With a flick of her wand Mrs Finnegan snapped the broom's handle in two and it lay in pieces on the grass, finally at rest.

* * *

"She caught him. It was amazing—you should see the way she can really fly, Jack! Like she didn't have to think about it at all, she just _zoomed_ and she was so fast you could hardly watch her!"

The others were mesmerized, their eyes large (and Jackson's positively enormous) as he listened to Andromeda's tale. "Wow," said Paris. "Well, she was a Chaser, so she'd have to know all sorts of tricks like that. I guess it's like catching a falling Quaffle."

He grinned at Luke, but Luke, hours later, was still feeling slightly queasy and could only grimace. He, Andromeda, Jackson, and several of Andromeda's siblings were sitting on the grass in an overgrown courtyard near the pond; Theia, who had accosted Luke outside the Heart Ring, was feeding Luke crackers at intervals, insisting that they would calm his stomach.

"Well," said Andromeda, "he hardly fell at all before she grabbed him. It was really scary, but with her there he wasn't really in trouble at all. Gosh, I've never seen a professional player fly before."

"That's gonna be me someday," declared Jackson loudly. "I'll be a world-famous Seeker, you'll see! I'll know all the tricks and no Bludger will ever, ever be able to touch me. I'll be the best there ever was!"

Imagining this made Luke smile, and that made him feel somewhat better. But he could not shake a feeling that was more than nausea—it was foreboding. _You don't do well with heights_, Mrs Finnegan had said, and the very thought of climbing back on a broom made Luke start to feel dizzy all over again. _How can I play Quidditch if I'm afraid of heights?_ he wondered miserably.

He sighed and refocused his attention on the conversation, and saw Andromeda smiling at him gently as though she had heard his thoughts. "It was your first time on a broom," she whispered. "It'll get easier."

Luke was unconvinced.

* * *

The week continued and Luke found himself not only willing to go to class, but eager. Every day brought new knowledge that he would never have dreamed existed, and everything seemed strange and exciting. His favorite class continued to be Transfiguration; by the end of the week they had still not taken wands to their pencils, but Luke was endlessly fascinated by the diagrams of molecules that Doctor Yancey drew on the chalkboard, teaching them the fundamentals of teaching one molecule to be another. "Don't get too specific," she told them, turning from an absurdly complicated diagram she had just drawn, replete with arrows. "You don't want to get bogged down trying to move each atom. This is just an example, to give you an idea of what we're trying to achieve. When you actually Transfigure something, it works much, much better to just imagine what you want to do."

Defense Against the Dark Arts was also intriguing. That first Friday, Mr Abernathy brought in a group of sixth-term students to demonstrate real wizarding duels, which were both frightening and wondrous. Words were hurled like weapons and flashes of colored light streaked from wandtips; students dodged or fell, their robes singed and smoking. There was no real danger involved, of course, for Abernathy had restricted the hexes available for their use and supervised closely, but the look on his face as he watched the students duel was a look of great satisfaction. _That's what he wants us to be able to do_, Luke thought as he watched the sixth-terms. _He's going to train us to fight_.

He very much liked Doctor Finnegan, though History did not interest him as much as the other classes with more practical applications. In Chemistry, Doctor Lunsford helped them set up distillation chambers and they learned to extract the essences of oak leaves and unicorn tail-hairs. Luke continued to excel in Charms, the concepts of which came to him with ease, and Botany was a welcome break from the classroom scene as they dug in the dirt to plant seeds that would apparently sprout singing flowers—Doctor Danderben said that with the application of certain fertilizers and incantations, they would be able to produce the national anthem.

In fact, the only class that Luke was not enjoying all that much was the one that he had looked forward to the most: Beginning Flying. Thursday's session was a misery, with Luke's nausea beginning the moment the broom touched his hands. He could no longer even look up at the golden goalposts without his knees going watery. Mrs Finnegan spoke to him and a few other students after that class and asked them to come in on Sunday morning for an extra session. "It'll be much easier with a smaller group," she assured them.

Luke woke up on Saturday and for the first time had nowhere in particular to go. He wandered into the courtyard with Dave Cavanaugh and they heard several second-term students discussing baseball; they were Muggle-born and had grown up with the game, and Dave, who was born of wizarding parents, was interested. In the end they mustered up a team and the Muggle-born students taught the wizarding-born the rules not by long discourse but by launching a game on the field behind the Quidditch stands. By lunchtime they were sweaty, dirty, and exhausted, and Luke was grinning as he approached Jackson, Andromeda, and the rest of the quintuplets at a table in White Hall.

Jackson was astonished. "You played baseball without me?"

"We can play again this afternoon," Luke assured him. "It was great! I didn't realize there were so many kids here with two Muggle parents, like me."

"Yeah, that's really common in the States," said the quintuplets' older brother, Charon. "I mean, a lot of witches and wizards end up marrying people they met here at Emerald Hill, but there are still a bunch who marry Muggles. Doesn't matter, though," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Just then a large feathery object landed in the center of the table, upsetting several glasses and startling Psyche so badly that she gave a small scream. It was an owl, which glared at them all briefly before focusing on Luke, and then he saw that it had a letter tied to its leg. Luke gasped and fumbled with the knot, pushing his plate of sandwich crusts to the owl before tearing open the plain white envelope—made of Muggle paper.

"Is it from Mark?" asked Jackson, leaning over.

"Yes!" Luke was very excited, but upon reading the message his face fell from elation to confusion. _Call me_, was all it said, and gave a number.

* * *

"But I _have_ to."

"I'm sorry, Lucas, but there's only one telephone on campus and that's in the principal's office. And he doesn't allow it to be used for things like this unless it's an emergency." Doctor Lunsford looked sympathetic. "I know you want to talk to your brother, but you'll just have to write him another letter."

"But he wants me to _call_ him." Luke was getting desperate, feeling inadequate to convey the urgency of the situation. "I haven't seen my brother since May, Doctor Lunsford, they wouldn't let me stay with him and he never replies to my letters so if he did this time it has to be important. Don't you see?"

Lunsford sighed. "Lucas—"

"There are phones in Red River, right?" said Jackson, leaning on his uncle's desk. "Come on, Uncle Heath, you'd let me talk to Maggie if she wanted."

"Yes, but you'd be allowed to contact her through Floo. It's different with Lucas's brother—he's a Muggle."

"He already knows about everything, we could use Floo!" But the moment these words were said, Jackson clapped both hands over his mouth, looking guilty.

Lunsford was shocked. "You...told your brother?" he said quietly to Luke. "About Emerald Hill...everything?"

"I didn't know I wasn't supposed to," said Luke, cowed. "Nobody told me I wasn't supposed to! I write Mark letters all the time, and nobody said I shouldn't tell him about Emerald Hill."

Lunsford stared at him for a long, terrible moment, and then sighed. "I'm sorry, Lucas," he said again. "We haven't been very fair to you. I guess it was easy to assume you knew the rules, since you were there with Jackson... We should have paid more attention to you specifically. Yours is a tough situation. I apologize."

This surprised Luke and he bobbed his head, unsure. "Uh, it's okay."

"Where does your brother live?"

"North Carolina. Some cabin in the mountains somewhere. He wants to be a park ranger."

"Does he have a fireplace?"

Jackson's face brightened and Luke glanced between them, the weight on his chest lifting slightly. "Do you mean it?"

Lunsford shrugged with a little smile. "I'm going to have to speak to him in person."

"Don't erase his memory!" shrilled Jackson, startling Luke. "Uncle Heath, you can't!"

"You can _do_ that?" cried Luke, aghast.

"Yes, it's possible. Calm down, Jack." Lunsford touched Jackson's shoulder reassuringly. "There won't be any need for that. Does he have a fireplace, Luke?"

"Uh, yeah, I'm pretty sure. He said it was just a little cabin, so I don't think it has heat."

"Come on, then. We have to go to Zander's office, to get him to connect your brother to the Floo network, just for today."

Luke's stomach fell. "Do we have to tell him?"

"I'm afraid so. Don't worry, though—this kind of thing happens every now and then. It's just that it's extra important to keep things secret these days. He might even come with us to see your brother, Luke."

Cynthia Redding smiled pleasantly at them from her desk in her office, beyond the double doors at the head of the enormous staircase in White Hall. It was a lavish, warm sort of room with deep red carpets and shining wooden surfaces, and the bright little woman looked somewhat out of place there. "Need to see the principal, Doctor?"

"Yes, please, Cindy," said Lunsford. "Is he busy?"

"Not at all, just reading the weekly reports. Go on in." With her wand she tapped a multi-colored pad on her desk in a particular spot, and beyond the large door in the back of the room Luke could hear the tinkling of a bell. Lunsford walked to the door and Luke and Jackson followed. Luke was vaguely relieved that his first visit to the office of the principal was not under circumstances of punishment; he did not intend to break any rules, but was paranoid of doing so by mistake.

Principal Zander sat behind a vast desk that was cluttered with all sorts of things: manuscripts, filing folders, intricate brass instruments, and, to Luke's amusement, several ordinary-looking snowglobes. He looked up as they entered, and smiled broadly. "Heath," he said in a warm voice. "And who are these bright young faces? No, don't tell me..." He looked at the boys closely. "You," he said, "are Jackson Vance Parker, nephew of our esteemed Chemistry professor here. You have your uncle's eyes."

Jackson beamed at this, and Luke was feeling more cheerful as Zander turned to him. "And you, of course, are Lucas Alan Baxter, foster brother of young Jackson here."

Luke had not thought of himself in those terms and it surprised him, but at the same time he liked it. The term _foster brother_ made him sound as though he were part of a family again. But that, of course, brought his thoughts back to Mark, and he sobered once more. "Good to meet you, sir," he said politely, allowing his hand to be shaken; Principal Zander had very large, square hands and a firm grip.

Lunsford went straight to business, describing the situation to the principal. Zander looked surprised but not angry, and gave Luke a kind smile. "Well," he said, "since your brother—what's his name?"

"Mark," said Luke.

"Since Mark already knows, there's no point trying to deny it. You sent your letters by owl, I presume?"

"Yes, sir. And...and I sort of sent a picture, too. The kind that moves."

"Ah." Zander nodded, his face a picture of deep thought. "That does complicate things. You were right to come to me, boys, and your teacher has the right idea—we're going to have to pay Mark a little visit. Just to explain things better."

Luke chewed on his lip. "Sir?" he said, and his voice sounded very small. "Please...please don't erase my brother's memory. It's not his fault I told."

Zander did not laugh, as Luke had been afraid that he might, but rather put a large hand on Luke's shoulder and looked at him closely. "Don't worry," he said. "It's going to be just fine, Luke, I promise. Your brother lives alone, right?" Luke nodded. "Then who is he going to tell? And, more to the point, who would believe him if he did?"

Luke was reminded of Lunsford's words about the contact between the wizarding and Muggle presidents. _Who would believe him?_ He smiled tentatively. "So...we can go see him?"

"I think that's best." Zander walked briskly to the door and leaned out into Cynthia Redding's office. "Cindy, we're going out for a bit. Back by dinnertime."

"Yes, sir."

There was a large, ornate fireplace in one wall of Zander's office, with all manner of odd miscellanea on the mantel, the wax of several tall candles spilling over the edge, frozen in mid-drip. With a flick of the principal's wand flames roared into life from the ashes, impressing Luke and Jackson very much. "Write down your brother's address for me, will you, Luke?" said Zander, bringing down from the mantel a dish of Floo powder.

Luke found a scrap of paper amidst the piles on the desk and took a quill from the principal's pot, writing the address carefully and handing it to Zander. Zander read it several times, then closed his eyes and directed his wand toward the fireplace, muttering soundlessly for several moments. Lunsford watched without expression, but Jackson could not stop whispering to Luke of his excitement to meet Mark. Luke had to admit that he was excited, as well, and hoped that Mark would not be too upset to have several people burst into his home out of the fireplace. _Try not to make a mess_, he wanted to say, but that sounded stupid.

Zander emerged from his trance, smiling, and tossed in a handful of the Floo powder. "You first, Luke," he said. "Warn your brother that we're coming. We'll be about a minute behind you."

"Yes, sir." Luke stepped up to the fireplace and suddenly wished that he had been able to change into clean clothes; he was still dirty from the morning's baseball game. He also wished that he were not wearing his sky kitsune patch on his t-shirt. But he would have felt silly taking it off in front of the others, so he left it. "Um, what do I say?"

"Say, _Mark Baxter's house_."

Luke nodded and addressed the flames. "Mark Baxter's house." He stepped into the fireplace and let the wind turn him to dust and carry him away, across the country.


	10. Ten

"Luke?"

Rolled up into that single word was a world's worth of unbelief and astonishment, but the voice that spoke it was so achingly familiar that Luke was suddenly on the verge of tears, though he had had no idea just how much he had missed the sound of it. His last memory of that voice was from the previous May, when he had been curled up in a corner of the couch while Mark shouted at Them, the people who had come to take Luke away. _He's my brother, you can't separate us!_ Mark had all but screamed, and though he had been deeply frightened Luke remembered feeling, in that moment, a surge of love for his brother so strong and simple and pure that it filled his heart and his throat to bursting. Of course, They had won, and Luke had been taken away. _Write to me_, Mark had said, hugging Luke so tightly he could hardly breathe. Luke had promised.

He shook his head hard, sending a light shower of ash to the floor, and gave his older brother an apologetic sort of smile.

"Hey, Mark."

Mark looked very much like an older version of Luke; they had the same sandy hair and long nose, but while Luke had their father's dark eyes, Mark's eyes were a bright greenish hazel like that of their mother. He was standing between the card table and the fallen chair at which he had been sitting, and which he had vacated rapidly at the sight of a person walking out of his fireplace from bright green flames, where before there had been no fire of any color. For a few seconds they just looked at each other, and then Luke's tears began to well up. "Sorry about the mess," he said in an embarrassingly squeaky voice.

"No, um, it's okay." Mark held out his hands placatingly, looking uncomfortable at the sight of his brother's emotion. "What are you...how did you...?"

"We can travel like that," said Luke rather miserably. "My, um, principal and one of my teachers are coming. They want to talk to you. Jack's coming, too, so you can meet him."

Mark's mouth worked for a moment as he obviously sought for some sort of coherent reply to this, and Luke shot a quick look around the cabin. It was very small—the whole thing was no larger than Luke's dorm room at Emerald Hill, with a cot in one corner and a half-open door leading to a tiny bathroom. "Your...principal?" Mark managed to say at last, but Luke had no time to reply.

Gerald Zander marched out of the fireplace as easily as though he were walking down the street, followed in a moment by Jackson and then Heath Lunsford. For a moment this group and Mark regarded one another in silence. Then, "Hi," said Mark, looking wary.

"Hello!" boomed Zander cheerfully. "You must be Mark Baxter. I'm Gerald Zander, principal of the Emerald Hill Academy of Magic." He pumped the hand of the bewildered Mark and then gestured to Lunsford. "This is Heath Lunsford, our Beginning and Intermediate Chemistry professor, and his nephew Jackson, of whom I believe you are already aware."

Jackson's grin seemed to show every tooth, and he examined Mark with bright interest. "Can you teach us that yo-yo trick?" he asked.

"Uh," said Mark, "hi, Jack. Maybe later. What's this all about?"

"You said you wanted me to call you," said Luke, stepping closer. "I wanted to, but we don't have any phones at school, so I had to tell Doctor Lunsford, who said we had to tell Principal Zander..." He sighed. "I guess it's a big deal that I told you about Emerald Hill and everything. I wasn't supposed to in the first place."

Zander was nodding. "We just came to make sure that you understand our situation, Mark," he said, and his manner was very pleasant. "Excuse the mess, by the way. Heath, could you please...?"

Lunsford nodded curtly and drew his wand from a hidden pocket in the sleeve of his robes; Mark's eyes boggled briefly at that sight but no sooner had he registered that shock than, with a grand sweep of his wand, Lunsford collected all of the scattered ash and dust in midair and returned it neatly to the fireplace. The wind of that motion shook everyone's clothes and, to Luke's surprise, had taken with it much of the dirt from his t-shirt and jeans.

Mark fumbled behind him for the chair, realized that it was still on the ground, and sat on the edge of the table. Still deadpan, Lunsford made a twitching motion with his wand and the chair gently righted itself. As Mark took his seat, Luke could see his brother's hands shaking slightly, and then Luke looked sharply up at Zander, who was still smiling. _You did that on purpose_, he thought, thinking of the mess of their entrance. _An example, so that he'd believe us right away._ It was remarkably shrewd and carried out subtly, and Luke was impressed not only by this but by the casual manner with which Zander executed it.

"Have you told anyone of the content of Luke's letters, Mark?" asked Zander, taking a chair for himself across the rickety card table.

"Uh, no." Mark shook his head. "Nope. Didn't...didn't seem like the sort of thing to tell."

"But did you believe it?"

Luke paid very close attention; this answer was important to him. And indeed, Mark glanced his way before replying. "Not at first. I thought it was a game...something he made up to make himself feel better. I was kinda worried about him, but I thought, at least he's not all depressed, right?

"But then...then he sent me the picture." Mark stood then and went over to the cot, and pulled out a little cardboard box from underneath, extracting from this the photo that Luke had sent to him, taken with Charon Day's magical camera. He handed it to Zander, who smiled as he saw the children waving, the movement still sharp and clear. "When I saw that, I didn't sleep all night. I couldn't stop looking at it. And I couldn't figure out how it could be doing that unless..." He sighed, running his hands through his hair, which was longer and wilder than Luke's. "Unless he wasn't making it up."

Zander nodded and handed the photo back to Mark. "It must have been a shock to you. It always is, when our world is revealed to someone who didn't know about it. Luke was surprised, too, weren't you?"

Luke nodded earnestly, wanting very much for his brother to understand. "I didn't believe it either, not until Mr Parker lifted me into the air with his wand."

"But the thing is," Zander went on, "Luke was not supposed to disclose to you much of the information that he has. He didn't know that, though, so it's not his fault. It's ours. We wanted to be certain that this is something you'll keep to yourself."

Mark laughed briefly. "If I went around talking about this, I'd get locked up. It sounds crazy."

Zander smiled. "That's the good part. The bad part is that there is danger involved with the knowledge you've been given."

Everyone grew solemn. "You mean...that suff about the Dark Lord...that was real, too?" Mark did not look as though he had not believed it, but rather as though he had not wanted to believe it. "Who is he? What does he want?"

"Death," replied Zander quietly, "and destruction. "He is evil. Cracked. Broken in some fundamental way. He is a madman and a murderer, and he is very much at large. He's after our entire society, Mark, and he has all of our resources."

"Wow, I'm gonna sleep great tonight," muttered Mark. Luke had to smile.

"Well, that's another reason that we're here. You have to know of the danger, of course, but we're not going to leave you unprotected. With your permission, Doctor Lunsford and I would like to offer you some protection. If that's alright."

"Oh." Mark looked dubious. "I mean...what kind of protection? A spell or something?"

"Yes. Sort of like an invisible tent over this little cabin. I can assure you that you'd be completely safe. And if anything magical did try to tamper with it, I would be alerted at once, as the creator of the spell. Would that be satisfactory?"

"Sure, whatever." Mark leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. "Do what you do." It seemed to Luke that his brother had given up on trying to understand what was going on, and had decided to just go along with it.

"And there is one other thing." Zander's face had gone so grave that Mark refocused on him (with visible reluctance), and Luke felt a strange, sharp pang in the pit of his stomach. "Mark, I would like to offer you more than just protection over this house. I can offer you protection over your mind."

Mark looked wary. "What do you mean?"

"I will not do so without your permission, but I would strongly recommend that you allow us to modify your memory. We can take away everything you know about Emerald Hill, the Dark Lord, magic—everything."

"No!" cried Luke, in a voice bordering on the pitiful. "No, you can't! You promised!"

Zander raised a hand to quiet him. "Sit down," he said, and rose from his chair, guiding Luke with a gentle but firm hand to sit there, across the table from Mark. Jackson was pressed close to his uncle, clutching at Lunsford's robes. "Listen carefully, all of you," went on the principal. "Secrecy is..._everything_ in our society, and most especially now. These are dark days, boys. I must impress upon you just how dark. This is your lesson, perhaps the most important you will ever receive. I hope you both understand, now, just how serious we are when we talk about the Dark Lord. He is without mercy. He has tortured and killed _children_, children just like the thousands that have been given into my care for the duration of the term. If we become his target he will stop at nothing in attacking us, and so I must stop at nothing to protect my school, my staff, my students. To modify your memory, Mark, would be not only for your protection, but also for the protection of Luke and Jackson. Whether or not you understand that now, it is the truth."

There was a high, shrill sound in the back of Luke's mind, like a scream. He wanted desperately to argue, but the more he thought the more confused he became, and could think of nothing to say. Then, to his horror, he saw that Mark was nodding slowly.

"I get it," he said.

"No," whispered Luke, but no one heard him.

"This guy, if he found me, could use me to get to Luke—to get to the school. But..." He looked at Luke with a sad little smile. "But if I don't know anything about the school, he can't use me, can he?"

Zander nodded. "I'll give you a moment with your brother," he said, and gestured. "Heath, Jackson, come with me. The protection spell must be conducted from outside the house."

They closed the door after exiting, leaving Luke to face his brother across the dingy card table. Luke glanced out the window. There was a short walk leading to a gravel road that disappeared in either direction into thick trees, and they were all the trees that Luke remembered and adored: white pine and red maple, the spreading oaks and towering hemlocks. Zander and Lunsford both drew their wands, and Zander was talking to Jackson, though Luke could not catch the words. He began moving his wand in intricate patterns through the air, and Luke thought he saw strands of light-colored substance, rather like spiderwebs, flit from the principal's wand toward the cabin, but they disappeared at once. He could feel something in the air, however, a feeling of _tightening_.

"Wild," said Mark quietly, and Luke saw that he, too, was watching through the window.

"Don't do it," said Luke.

"Why?" Mark's expression was frank, an adult look that startled Luke. "Me knowing about this stuff is dangerous. At least he told me about it and asked my permission instead of wiping my brain first, right? And it's not like I won't remember _you_. You can keep writing, tell me about your friends and your grades and all that stuff...just...not magic. And I guess you'll have to send your letters in the regular mail, too. I'll think the Parkers sent you to boarding school or something. That's not so far from the truth."

Luke felt desperate. He _knew_ that there was something wrong about this plan, could not ignore the twisting of his stomach at the thought of it, but at the same time he had no response to its logic. "They...they'll read my letters before they send them," he said at last, in a small voice.

"Yeah, I guess they will. But that's standard wartime practice, Mucus."

Luke had to smile at the old nickname; it had used to make him angry and tearful, but now it stung in a different way. "War," he repeated.

"Sounds to me like that's what you've got going on. Pretty amazing that schools like yours are still running, considering that guy's on the loose. I like that man—your principal. Zoolander?"

"_Zander_." But Luke's smile was firmer now. _He's changed_, he thought, looking thoughtfully at his big brother. _He's changed so much since May. Maybe I have, too._

There was a light knock on the door and Jackson poked in his head. "They want to know if you're ready," he said.

Mark took a deep breath and let it out slowly, resting his arms on the table. "Yeah. Ready."

Jackson entered, followed by Lunsford and Zander. "First," said Zander gently, "we'll have to burn the letters you've received, along with that photo."

Mark gathered these things, but at the last moment Luke snatched the photo from the fireplace. "I'll keep it," he said, and stuffed it into his t-shirt. No one objected. They all watched the letters burn, and then Zander instructed Mark to sit at the table once more. But to Luke's surprise it was Lunsford who drew his wand. Mark watched it, brow furrowing. "You're sure you can erase only those parts?" he asked.

"You have nothing to fear," said Zander. "Doctor Lunsford is an accomplished wizard and highly accredited at memory modification. You're in good hands."

Lunsford did not acknowledge the compliment, but offered his lopsided smile to Mark. "This won't hurt a bit," he said. "You'll feel a little dizzy afterward—you won't even notice us leaving—but in an hour you'll be fine."

Mark nodded, looking grim. "Go for it."

Lunsford relaxed; his shoulders slumped and his eyes went half-closed, and the wand looked in danger of tumbling from his fingers. Then, as sudden and sharp as a firecracker, his back snapped straight and rigid, his eyes flew open, and he swept the wand through the air with the motion of a chop. "_Obliviate!_" he shouted, and for an instant a flash of white light filled the cabin. It reminded Luke of a camera flash.

As Lunsford had said, Mark was groggy afterward. When Luke hugged him he gave a distracted sort of goodbye, muttering something about needing to "clean this rat's nest." But he clearly still remembered Luke and that was a tremendous relief.

Luke refused to speak to either Zander or Lunsford. They returned to the school by Floo—Mark would not remember their departure later—and while Jackson lingered to have a discussion with his uncle, Luke ignored Lunsford's offer of inclusion and went straight to his dorm room, curling up on his bed with Grimalkin.

_Write your letters_, Zander had said once they were back in Emerald Hill. _I'll send them for you, Luke—by conventional mail, of course._ But Luke knew that all of his letters to Mark from now on would be read and censored before being sent, and it was no consolation.

As evening fell, Luke's silent tears were absorbed by his pillow. _I'm so sorry_, he thought to his brother, so far away again. _I'm so sorry_. But he did not know what he was sorry for.

* * *

_Dear Mark:_

_School is going fine. I like all of my classes a lot, and Jack and I are exploring the whole campus bit by bit. There are a lot of cool statues here and I think they put some of them on purpose in places that are hard to find, so they're like a surprise. My other friend Andi has a birthday soon. She's throwing a huge party and Jack and I are invited. Jack still wants you to teach us that yo-yo trick sometime, so don't forget._

_Grimalkin says hi. She's my cat, remember? If I can find someone with a camera I'll send you a picture of her._

_Anyway. I miss you. I'll write again soon._

_Luke_

* * *

When Luke brought the letter, complete with stamp and address, to Cynthia Redding's office, she showed him the basket where he could leave it. Luke was stunned to see other letters there—dozens. He wondered how many brothers and sisters and parents and cousins had had to have their memories altered, and reflected again on the price of secrecy and all that the Dark Lord had done to fracture families he had never met, and then tossed his letter onto the pile.

"It doesn't get easier, hun," said Redding sympathetically as he was leaving the office. "Never does. But we've all got to stick together on this."

"I know," said Luke. "This is war."


	11. Eleven

Sunday was overcast and chilly, which quite suited Luke's mood. He went early to White Hall, planning to eat breakfast alone before heading to the Quidditch field—he did not want to see Jackson before he had had time to think about just what to say. For once, his friend's bright chatter was not welcome. But he had only just started his meal when the hair on the back of his neck prickled, and he knew that someone was staring at him. He looked up sharply, glaring for no real reason, and saw his Transfiguration teacher sitting at a nearby table, watching him as she scooped scrambled eggs to her mouth. Her face was a perfect oval, and in the indirect light of the morning sunshine, her skin looked almost translucent. Only her blond, curly hair—which looked natural, but he could not be sure—broke the mold of the beautiful Asian. Luke had not known many Asians in his short life, but he found Doctor Yancey stunning.

Luke looked down again. He remembered the day that the woman had come to his rescue and Jackson's, removing them easily from a situation that could have turned disastrous. How relieved they had been to be safely back within the walls of Dragontooth Square! But later they had laughed about their fear, taking comfort each in the other. Suddenly Luke felt guilty; again he and Jackson had together been through a scary situation, but this time there had been no comfort. It was wrong of him to avoid his friend—Jackson was undoubtedly suffering, and he had done nothing wrong. He had been supportive of Luke and opposed to the memory modification from the very beginning.

He had a vague idea to perhaps mention something to Yancey about that day on the streets of New York City, but when he looked over, she was not in evidence, having slipped away while he was lost in thought. There was no time for a conversation anyway, he noticed, glancing at the ornate four-foot-diameter clock hanging above the doors to the greenhouse courtyard. Nor was there time to seek out Jackson; it was time for his extra flying lesson, and as his stomach turned at the thought, he regretted the eggs and bacon.

This being a weekend, no one was required to wear their school robes, and it felt odd to see his classmates in jeans and sweaters. Even Michelle Finnegan was dressed casually, with a long narrow scarf in rainbow colors dangling to her knees, but she still wore her ubiquitous silver bracelets and even from afar Luke could hear them chiming.

"Welcome, Mister Baxter," she greeted him. "Everyone here? Yes. Good. Please stand beside a broom."

Luke edged nervously up to a vacant broom, ashamed of himself but unable to help it.

"Now," said Finnegan, clapping her hands together so that the bracelets jingled loudly. "You've all had a bit of trouble mastering the basic kick, so we're going to work on that. Now, a confident flight begins with a confident call. Never forget that the broom is an inanimate object—it's charmed, but it's still just a broom. You are a human. The broom will obey you if you make up your mind to be in charge. Now, let me hear some confident _ups_. Go for it!"

Luke held out his hand over the broom, and swallowed hard. Every time he called a broom to him, he remembered with horror the way that very first broom had struggled slightly, wanting to keep rising. It was a warning sign that he had not recognized. He knew so little about brooms—what else could he be missing? He sighed, cleared his throat, and mustered a scowl. "_Up_," he said to the broom in a commanding tone. At once it leapt to his hand and he caught it inexpertly, gripping rather harder than was necessary.

"Good, Baxter," said Finnegan. "But don't choke it. It's not going to fly out of your hand...I promise." Her smile was kind.

As she went around the group giving pointers—and it was a little disheartening to Luke that so much could go wrong with the initial call and grip of the broom—Luke tried to regard his broom with the interested detachment that would be suitable for an inanimate object. _It's just a thing_, he told himself. _How many times did Mom make you sweep the porch? It's no different from that broom_. But he could not quite convince himself. This broom lay quiescent in his hands, neither trembling nor struggling nor drooping lazily, but all the same he imagined that it held a brooding menace.

"Alright," said Finnegan, "go ahead and mount your brooms." The students did so and she applauded them thoroughly, which made them smile and relaxed the rather tense air of the group. "Now, I'm going to have you kick into the air one at a time. "Plemmons, why don't you start us off?"

A smallish boy stepped forward, with a head of dark curls and a long pointed nose holding up thick glasses, and his brow creased in concentration as he poised for the leap. Luke found that he was holding his breath. Plemmons flexed his knees and then pistoned his legs sharply, rising almost straight into the air instead of at the desired forward angle. His broom rocked crazily for a moment and then steadied, and Plemmons puffed out his cheeks in relief, his face rather red but managing a smile.

"Well, at least you're in the air," said Finnegan, and the others tittered. Plemmons waved with mock-graciousness and then snapped his hand back to the handle as the broom threatened to roll. "Come on down," said the teacher, and Plemmons gently nosed his broom back to the earth, looking relieved to be there.

"I was never meant to leave the ground," he said in an aside to Luke as Finnegan turned to another student. "My family were miners underground, not in the clouds."

Luke glanced at him with a smile. "What kind of mining do they do in clouds?" he asked, teasing.

Plemmons looked surprised. "Stardust. Lightning residue. Cloud essences. Do you live under a rock or something?"

Abashed, all Luke could think of to say was, "I'm Muggle-born."

"Say no more," said Plemmons, patting his shoulder with a reappearance of the graciousness he had summoned previously; Luke could not measure his sincerity. The other boy had the twangy drawl of resident of New England. "My dad was Muggle-born. He was nuts for me to learn the history of the world and everything magical in it before I got here, because he didn't get to. They knew I was magic 'cause when I was two I fell into the lake and bobbed around like a beach ball, laughing. They took pictures." His eyes were huge and emphatic, magnified by the lenses of his glasses.

"Baxter," said Finnegan, looking at him pointedly. Luke thought he was in trouble for talking during the lesson until he realized that it was simply his turn; Plemmons stepped back and Luke gripped his broom carefully, firmly but not too tight. _Just a little kick_, he thought, repeating Finnegan's words back to himself. _Forward and up_. He remembered the perfectly-calculated kick he had achieved on his very first attempt—before things had gone so terribly wrong—and tried to replicate it, but at the last second fear caused him to stumble and he took a step forward with his left foot before kicking off with both together. To his surprise, the broom sailed into the air and hovered there quietly.

Finnegan applauded, her bracelets adding music to Luke's triumph. "Well done, Baxter! You're getting the hang of it. Come on down, now, we'll practice _staying_ in the air later."

Luke gently pushed on the nose of his broom and it glided obediently to the ground. Feeling exultant, Luke turned to Plemmons with a wide grin and found the smaller boy solemnly holding a hand in the air. It took Luke a bewildered moment to recognize the signal for a high-five, and then he obliged.

All things considered, at the end of the lesson Luke was feeling somewhat better about his ability to sit on a broom without dying. As he walked away from the Quidditch grounds he heard jogging feet and saw Plemmons hurrying to catch up with him. "Hey," said the boy. "What herald are you, anyway?"

"Kitsune," said Luke. "I'm a Sky Kitsune—my name's Luke."

"Merwin Plemmons, Royal Sphinx." He put out a hand—unusually large for his scrawny body—and Luke shook it, rather amused. "My dad wanted to give me a _magical_ name. _A twist on a classic_, he calls it. What do you think?" He blinked earnestly through his glasses.

"It's weird," said Luke honestly. "But one-of-a-kind."

Merwin grinned, pushing his glasses up on his nose with a quick, long-practiced gesture. "Say, where are you headed?"

"I was gonna go find my friend. He's a Sphinx, too. Jackson Parker."

"Never heard of him," said Merwin blithely. "But he's a Sphinx, so we're practically brothers already. Where is he?"

"Dunno," said Luke, wondering how long Merwin—amusing but clingy—would be accompanying him. "Maybe church, I guess. I know his family always goes."

"Then off we go!" Merwin gave what he probably thought was a grand flourish but was really more like random flailing. He tromped along beside Luke, making a lot of good-natured noise and greeting many people that they passed, of all terms; he was evidently well-known and most of the greetings he received in return, at least from the upper-terms, were of the same nature as Luke's reaction: fond in a sort of indulgent manner. _That's our Merwin_, they seemed to say with their eyes and smiles. He appeared to have distinguished himself in a very short time, and Luke could not help but envy him that. Luke still felt fairly anonymous on the Emerald Hill grounds.

The school's chapel was built into the mountainside on the eastern rim of the bowl, only its ornate front showing outside the rock. It was made of milky marble like White Hall, its steps cracked and worn and the brass bell hung outside tarnished and dented; a large stained-glass image was set on either side of the wide doors, and Luke recognized both scenes from his own churchgoing background—Saul encountering Jesus on the road to Damascus, and Elijah being taken up into heaven in the chariot of flames. They were intricate and brilliantly-colored, admitting glittering light into the otherwise shadowy interior. The pews were old and a little musty, and the aisle carpet was threadbare, its edges gnawed by mice, but Luke liked the chapel. It comforted him to know that there were some things, after all, that the wizarding and Muggle worlds shared.

The early service had just ended when Luke and Merwin entered, and as Luke had suspected, Jackson was sitting alone in one of the back pews. His head was bowed and Luke wondered at first if he were praying, but as they paused in the aisle, even with the pew, Jackson looked up and Luke saw that there were tears in his eyes.

To Merwin's credit, he at once muttered a tactful farewell and wandered off to chat with a group of acquaintances further up the aisle. Uncomfortable but moved by his friend's open vulnerability, Luke slid into the pew and sat beside Jackson, who looked even smaller, with even larger eyes, when he was miserable. "Hey," said Luke quietly.

"Hey." Jackson sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "You missed church."

"Yeah, sorry, it's just...I had extra flying practice this morning, remember? I was out on the Quidditch field."

"Oh yeah." Another sniff. Jackson was looking down at his hands, which twisted constantly and fretfully on his knees. "Hey, Luke?"

"Yeah?" Soft organ music was floating down the aisle, and in the peaceful gloom Luke almost felt like crying himself.

"Do you think we did something...bad? Letting them erase your brother's memory?"

Luke cleared his throat. "Well, they didn't _erase _it. They just changed it." He did not know why he was suddenly defending Lunsford and Zander, but he wanted both Jackson and himself to be clear on that point.

"Okay. Do you think we did something bad, letting them change your brother's memory?"

Luke looked at his friend with a half-strangled smile. "That's what you're worried about?"

Jackson nodded, still studying his hands.

"Aw, Jack." Luke was touched, and punched his friend's shoulder lightly. He felt strangely mature and protective, and for a bare moment knew what it meant to be a big brother, though Jackson was almost seven months his senior. "We didn't do anything wrong. We had to tell. We had to make sure that we're helping to keep this world safe."

Jackson finally looked up, hope dawning in his watery eyes. "Then...you'll forgive Uncle Heath?"

Luke considered this for a moment. "No," he decided, shaking his head. "I can't do that yet. He lied to us, Jack, and _that's_ wrong."

Jackson sighed, raising a puff of dust from the shelf, attached to the back of the forward pew, that held the hymnal books. "I figured you'd say that."

For a few moments they were silent, as students shuffled in and out of the cavernous space and the pastor and choir prepared for the day's second service—there were three every Sunday, Luke knew, two in the morning and one in the evening. During the week, the doors were always unlocked, the space available for anyone who wanted to use it. It was a quiet, reverent place.

He looked sidelong at Jackson, who clearly considered himself and Luke a single brotherly unit, so concerned about their potential sin that he could not conceive of any rift between them...and somehow, Jackson's inability to sense it had abolished whatever rift Luke had created in his own mind. And that was a form of magic in itself, a sort that even Muggles could practice. And thinking of Muggles, the image of Mark's face appeared unbidden in Luke's mind, old and wise and troubled as he listened to Zander explaining. Suddenly Luke had to get out, needed fresh air. "Come on," he muttered to Jackson, and they slipped out of the chapel just as the bells were starting to ring to signal the next service.

They walked south around the rim of the bowl. The chill of the early morning air, foretelling the coming autumn, had been chased away and it was a fine morning, with dew still sparkling in the patches of shade. Here a crumbling wall fenced in a courtyard with what looked like an enormous chessboard laid in the ground in different shades of marble, cracked and overgrown with weeds; it was large enough for people to stand in as the pieces, and Luke felt a vague desire to learn to play chess, if only to try out the giant board. And here, revealed suddenly by a seemingly haphazard arrangement of poplar trees, was a life-sized statue in solid granite of a club-toting giant stooping to shake the relatively tiny hand of a tall wizard.

"David Giant-Hand," said Jackson as they passed. "Dad used to tell me stories about him. I guess the people coming west had trouble with giants and this David guy went out all by himself and made peace with them. America hasn't had much trouble with them since. But David never did come back. He stayed with the giants. So some people say there's still wizard blood in the American giants...or maybe giant blood in American wizards."

Luke had to smile at that. They came up along the eastern edge of the pond, which occupied about half of the bowl's southeast quarter. Sunday was a lazy day for Emerald Hill students and only a few had ventured this far in the morning hours; aside from a few preoccupied wanderers, two upper-term girls discussing poetry, and one boy napping in a hammock strung from the branches of the largest Weeping Willow, Luke and Jackson had the pond to themselves. They sat on the ground—benches were plentiful everywhere on the school grounds but Luke preferred being down on the grass—and tossed stones into the water. For once Jackson was quiet, slumped and rather listless, troubles having a tendency to visibly weigh him down.

Luke felt compelled to speak., but did not know what to say. He wished that he and Jackson had kept secret the letters he wrote to his brother; better still would it have been had he never mentioned them to anyone. The best scenario, of course, would have been never having to write the letters in the first place, but in order for that to be true, he and Mark would still be together, and for them to be together, their mother would have had to be alive.

"I'm mad at myself," he said suddenly; the words burst out of his mouth in the rush of the awful stew of emotions that boiled up when he thought of his brother.

Jackson said nothing, but he stopped throwing stones.

"I'm mad because it's my fault my brother's memory got changed. They took part of his life away from him and it's all my fault. There's an empty space in his mind that he'll never even know about. But I will. I'll always know. And now they'll read all my letters, so I can't ever say the real truth. But he won't know that, either. He'll think everything's fine, but I'll know it's not. And that's not fair. It's the _big_ brother who's supposed to know about the bad things and protect the little brother, not the other way around.

"Mark tried to do that at first. After Mom died, I mean. It was real sudden—she went out to go to the bank and get some hamburger meat for the spaghetti sauce, I remember. Her car crashed. They didn't tell me everything that happened, because I'm just a kid. I wanted to know, but they wouldn't tell me. They didn't even have to take her to the hospital, she was just dead. And I think Mark knew that they were gonna send me away. He was eighteen and he wanted to keep me with him. I never woulda thought he'd want to keep me like that. We fought a lot, you know? Just being brothers. But he told me that and I thought I'd never loved anybody as much as I did when he said that. And he tried, but I think he probably knew all along that they weren't gonna let him do that.

"One night, the last night before they took me to live with you, I got thirsty at night and went downstairs and saw Mark crying. I'd never seen him cry before. It was scary. He tried to stop it really quick so I wouldn't see, and then he was embarrassed, but he didn't leave, and after a little while we just started talking about Mom. You would've liked her, Jack. She used to go fishing with us on the weekends—she was a teacher, so she got weekends off just like us, and the whole summer too. Last May when we got out of school she took me and Mark up to Minnesota to go fishing in Lake Superior. It was the best time I ever had. And like a week after that she was dead. She had this long dark hair. Mark and I both have hair like Dad's was, but Mom's hair was dark. I remember when I was really little, laying on the big bed in their room and watching Mom brush her hair. Mark has eyes like Mom's, sometimes green and sometimes blue, but they always tell me I have my Dad's eyes.

"I don't remember him much. He died when I was six. I remember he was sick for a long time, though. It was some sort of cancer, I can't remember what. But he was in the hospital all the time and we didn't always have a lot to eat because it cost so much, whatever they were doing to try to make him better. Sometimes, when Mark was in a really good mood, I'd get him to tell stories about when he was little and Dad wasn't sick. Mark says in the fall Dad used to rake the whole yard—it took all day 'cause we had such a big yard—and put the leaves into one gigantic pile and then he'd grab Mark and throw him into it, then jump in after him and they'd make such a mess that he'd have to rake the whole thing all over again. He never did that with me, though. He was too sick. Then one day he came home and I thought it was because he was getting better, but he was so skinny and his skin felt like...it felt like the parchment we use to do our homework. I haven't told anybody this, but that's what I think of whenever I touch that parchment—my dad's skin right before he died. They couldn't fix him. They sent him home to die. And then he did, and nobody was surprised but me."

He stopped and sighed, realizing that he had been talking for a long time. Jackson had not moved, and remained looking out over the water as the sun grew warmer and the shadows deeper. Luke picked a few blades of grass and split them into sections with his fingernails. "I miss my brother," he said finally. "And I wanted to see him again, but not like that. Not..."

Just then there was a small noise behind them, something stirring, and Luke and Jackson turned at once, simultaneously, to see a girl perched on a bench about fifteen feet away, staring at them. It was Dancy—there was no mistaking that hair. "Hey!" cried Luke, startled and self-conscious. "What are you doing? Were you listening the whole time?"

The girl's expression, which had been something Luke did not quite recognize, soured in an instant and her pale green eyes seemed to blaze. Her thin body stiffened. "So what if I was?" she snapped. "What's it to you? Afraid I'm gonna tell the school your pathetic story? You're so arrogant! Leave me alone!" And with that she stormed off, but despite her stomping and theatrical arm-swinging, she made very little noise as she disappeared through the trees.

The boys stared after her, mouths hanging open. Luke felt guilty again; he had not meant to sound so belligerent, but she had surprised him.

"Woah," said Jackson. "What the hell was that about?"

Luke gasped, jerked from his guilt, and turned his stare to Jackson. "You said..."

Jackson was grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Chester says it all the time. The teachers hate it, but the upper-terms laugh. But boy, is she weird! Does she follow you around or something?"

"I dunno. I shouldn't have yelled at her."

"Aw, forget about it. She creeps me out." Jackson rubbed his arms briskly; his good cheer appeared to have been completely restored, and he resumed throwing rocks into the pond. Luke sat in thoughtful silence and watched the ripples spreading from the impact of Jackson's rocks. It made him think of the Lake Superior trip again—casting far across the water on a misty morning—and that aroused a strong but indefinable ache in the region of his stomach. He wished he could relive just five minutes of that trip...which made him wonder whether there might exist some magic that allowed one to relive parts of one's life, if only as a spectator. For a moment he considered asking Jackson about it, but reasoned that the boy probably would not know, and it would be unwise to reintroduce the awkwardness they had spent the past hour overcoming.

About a quarter-turn around the pond, a dark-haired figure appeared from the wood path and looked around; Luke recognized Merwin Plemmons and raised an arm. Merwin saw him and ambled around the pond with hands in pockets. Jackson watched his approach with interest. Luke looked between the two of them and thought to himself that they were of nearly the exact same build, and yet their faces could not have been more different—Jackson's round and open and freckled, Merwin's long-nosed and swarthy.

"Hey," said Merwin, and again flicked a hand to push his glasses up his nose. "You guys okay, or what?"

"Yeah," said Luke before Jackson could answer. "Merwin, this is Jackson Parker, my...my foster brother." It sounded strange to say that, but he liked it. "Jack, that's Merwin, uh..."

"Plemmons." Merwin pumped Jackson's arm three times and released his hand. "Royal sphinx. Luke tells me you're a Sphinx, too."

"I sure am!" Jackson's chest swelled with pride. "Flame Sphinx. My dad was a Silver Sphinx."

"Eh, mine was a Night Unicorn. He's fearsome proud of it, too. In fact, he—oh, hey, Jeremy!" Merwin beamed over the tops of the other boys' heads at someone behind them.

Luke and Jackson turned to see an upper-term boy approaching, wearing a bright orange cap stuffed down over pale hair. "Hey, Merwin," he said rather absently, and then focused on Jackson. "You Jackson Parker?"

"Uh, yes?" squeaked Jackson, startled at the attention.

"Good. You'd better come up to the owl tower and get your bird. He's flying all around the place making a mess. Haven't you trained him?"

"He was just a baby!" Jackson protested, scrambling to his feet. "He couldn't even fly!"

"Well, he's flying now." The boy—Jeremy, apparently—turned on a heel and made his way back toward the center of campus.

"That's Jeremy Phelps," said Merwin, hopping a bit to keep up as Luke and Jackson hurried after the boy. "Seventh-term Gold Phoenix. He's the apprentice owl-keeper for the whole school! Everyone says they're gonna hire him when old Trevelyan kicks the bucket."

"Do you know everyone in the school?" Luke asked.

"Yep!" Merwin grinned; he seemed to show every tooth in his head when he grinned. "I mean, I'm working on it. You gotta _integrate_, you know?"

Luke did not know, but neither did he bother asking. By the time they reached the owlry all three were winded, for Jeremy took long strides and showed no interest in whether or not the boys were actually following him. The owlry was not a single structure but rather a series of small turrets carved into the side of the northern cliff, connected by narrow stairs chipped from the rock. On their first trek up, to deposit the owl chick, Jackson had tripped and fallen out into space, but before panic even had a chance to register in Luke's mind his friend had bounced back and stood on the steps looking bewildered. They learned later that the steps were charmed to keep anyone from falling, but Luke could still not be convinced to try it out himself (though Jackson toppled gleefully from the edge several times, each time shoved back by what seemed like an invisible trampoline).

When Jeremy opened the heavy iron door to a certain turret, about a hundred feathers shot out through the new opening, and the four of them spluttered and waved their arms until they could see. Jackson's Great Grey Owl chick was immediately visible, swooping around the circular room in crazy figure-eights, diving and chirruping in what appeared to be great pleasure. Jackson sidled around Jeremy, swatting away more feathers (shed by the stressed housemates of the exuberant youngster), and raised his arms, opening his mouth, but then froze.

"Well?" said Jeremy, folding his arms. "Do something."

Jackson looked at him over his shoulder. "What do I do?"

"Call him!"

"He doesn't have a name."

"Then _give_ him a name."

Jackson's face contorted for a moment as he wrestled with this responsibility, and then a word burst shrilly from him: "Toodle-oo!"

The adolescent owl squawked with surprise and nearly tumbled from the air, but recovered and flapped rather clumsily to Jackson, who was nearly unbalanced by the bird's weight on his arm. "Hey!" he cried, exultant and a little frightened. "Hey, it worked!"

Merwin was smirking, and Luke could not help but grin. "_Toodle-oo?_" they said together.

Jackson scowled. "It was all I could think of!"

"Hey, whatever." Jeremy still looked bored, but he was smiling a little. "You've gotta train that bird, kid."

Jackson looked at the owl, sitting quite calmly on his arm, and reached up to stroke its head tentatively. "But...I don't know how."

"You could help him, right, Jeremy?" said Merwin. "Come on, it's Sunday, you don't have nothing better to do."

"Except teach you how to talk, apparently." But Jeremy was still smiling. "Yeah, alright. Come on, kid, we'll go to the baseball field."

And so the hours before lunch found Luke sitting in the baseball bleachers with Merwin Plemmons, watching Jeremy and Jackson trying to train the newly-christened Toodle-oo. Merwin rambled extensively about the various other students doing homework or playing games throughout the stadium until Luke's head spun, so full of facts and information that it eventually gave up and just let Merwin's voice pass into one ear and out of the other (as his mother always used to say).

Then he spied Andromeda's older brother Charon walking along the edge of the field with another boy and two girls. He waved, and Charon nodded his way, then stopped as an afterthought. "Hey," he yelled, "did your brother like that picture?"

For a moment Luke's throat was too tight to allow speech, but after a few swallows he managed a smile. "Yeah," he called back. "Yeah, he sure did. Thanks."

"Good. By the way, my little brothers and sisters have their birthday next week. They're throwing this huge party. Gonna be there?"

"Oh! Yeah, sure!"

The older students moved on, and Merwin stared at Luke through those funny thick glasses. "You know Charon Day?" he said. "He's like the best-looking guy in the school, and he's only fourteen!"

Luke shrugged. "His sister's a Sky Kitsune like me, so we have classes together."

Merwin staged a dramatic swoon. "Luke. Man. Those girls are like models! You gotta introduce me!"

Enjoying this newfound power, Luke sniffed and feigned greater interest in Toodle-oo's acrobatics. "I'll think about it."

Again Mark's face tried to push its way into his thoughts, and he repelled it gently but firmly. _Sorry, Mark_, he thought. _This time it's gotta be me taking care of you_.

* * *

_Dear Mark:_

_Jackson has a pet bird. His uncle got it for him. He named it Toodloo (I'm not sure how to spell it) and it's really friendly. But a little crazy too. Sort of like Jack, I guess. Haha. My friend Andi has a birthday next week and she's gonna have this really big party. That should be fun. Do you think you can come to the Parker's house for Christmas? My classes are great. I'm learning alot. Write back when you can._

_Luke_

* * *

_Luke,_

_Sounds like you're having a great time. Things are fine here in NC. The leaves are going to start turning colors soon. By the way, I met this girl. Her name is Kelly and she is __RICH!__! I might spend Christmas with her family. I don't know yet. I'll let you know when I decide. But Kentucky isn't so far, so maybe I can come visit for a day once you're home for the holidays. Stay out of trouble, Mucus._

_Mark._


	12. Twelve

"Hello, and welcome to _Rrrrrrrrrrroma!_"

Jackson's face split into a goofy open-mouthed grin; Luke smiled rather hesitantly. The doorman was dressed in only a long white toga, sandals, and a crown of olive leaves, and the arm he had flung into the air for dramatic effect along with the word _Roma_ hung there motionless as he appraised their reactions.

"Um, thank you," Luke said at last, and only then did the arm descend.

"May I have the honor of accepting your invitations?" he said, tenting his fingers and leaning forward.

Jackson, who had insisted upon the privilege of carrying the invitations, held out the beautifully embossed cards (complete with a detailed ink drawing of a kitsune at the top). "Can't we keep them?" he asked.

"But of course." The man produced a hole-puncher from a shelf within his little podium and deftly clipped a hole in a corner of each invitation. "Lucas Baxter and Jackson Parker, present. Please select a complimentary toga, remove your shoes, and go on in. The gift table is on the southern wall of the western wing."

The boys advanced past the podium (another _welcome to_ _Rrrroma!_ rang out from behind them) and, chuckling all the while, selected long swathes of cotton to drape about themselves toga-style (dark blue for Luke and red with gold trim for Jackson). They then kicked their shoes into the existing pile and made their way barefoot up the broad marble steps to the open concourse of White Hall, the entirety of which had been rented out and decorated by the quintuplets' parents for the occasion of their eleventh birthday. The theme of the party, as indicated on the invitations, was _ancient Rome_, and Luke and Jackson were very impressed, having never even heard before of a party with a theme, much less anything on this extravagant scale.

Vast curtains of silk hung between the outer pillars—in blue, gold, and silver, celebrating the Emerald Hill styles of the quintuplets—and the tables and chairs were gone, plush cushions and divans instead dividing the floor into areas for socializing, eating, and dancing. Instead of a formal meal, the entire northern wall was lined with banquet tables of bare but beautifully polished wood, featuring mostly roasted meat and mountains of fresh fruit. Even the ceiling was disguised with further drapes of silk, and the floor tiles had been charmed to glitter and sparkle in the torchlight.

All in all, Luke had never seen anything quite so lavish. Every two seconds, Jackson saw something new to exclaim about—the fountain in the center of the dance floor that had not been there that morning, the waiters in peasant garb carrying polished silver trays, the minstrel band of lyre and lute playing in one corner, how funny this or that person looked in his toga.

First they made their way through the crowded hall to the gift table, already laden with beautifully wrapped presents, and deposited their own contributions. Over a week previously they had made a special trip to Red River, escorted by Lunsford, to find gifts for the quintuplets; advised by Lunsford that this was a formal affair, Jackson had picked out special quills, each of the five with a unique feather, and Luke had chosen charm bracelets for the girls and pocket-watches for the boys. They felt very adult about their purchases.

Charon was attending the gift table, resplendent in a dark green toga, and greeted the boys warmly. "The quints are up on the dais," he said, gesturing across the hall. "Go say hi before you eat anything—they expect it."

"What's a dais?" Jackson asked as they headed for the eastern wing.

"Beats me," said Luke. "That thing, I guess." He pointed—in the eastern wing, a raised platform had been erected and upon it, in velvet-padded chairs, were the five birthday children. Paris and Aristaeus wore togas, but in richer fabrics than those distributed to the guests; Theia, Psyche, and Andromeda were dressed in gauzy silk and expensive-looking jewels. All five wore the olive-leaf crowns. With their dark curly hair and manner of easy charm, they looked quite at home in the exotic setting.

Luke and Jackson joined the line of people waiting to greet the quintuplets, and as they waited, Jackson had an idea and whispered quickly with Luke. When they finally reached the dais, instead of saying hello, they bowed in unison. The boys rolled their eyes but the three girls were delighted—Theia even blushed—so Luke and Jackson considered the idea a success.

After some searching they managed to locate Jackson's roommate Chester with some other acquaintances, and sat down on cushions to eat. Every student was allowed one small glass of real Italian wine, and the boys toasted one another expansively, laughing at their own wit and eating grapes and cheese and the most delicious bread Luke had ever tasted. It was better than an hour before the quintuplets had greeted all the guests, and then Andromeda came to find them. She wore a silver anklet with tiny bells on it that jingled as she walked, and she sank down onto a cushion beside Jackson with a faint tingling and a graceful sweep of lavender silks, looking older than her eleven years.

"Whew!" she said, and sipped at her goblet of wine. "That was Psyche's idea, the whole throne thing. I thought it was a little tacky. But aren't the togas great? You boys look so funny!"

The group muttered assent, staring at Andromeda with varying levels of shyness. She wore a ring on one finger with a blue stone as large as a robin's egg. Seeing Luke looking at it, she laughed and toyed with the ring. "Mother can go a bit overboard with our parties. I think she enjoys them more than we do. But it's lovely, right?"

"Yeah," Luke said, one of a surrounding flurry of nods. "I never knew White Hall could look so...rich."

Andromeda blushed and some of the boys glared at Luke, who did not realize what he might have said wrong for about ten seconds. "Oh! I, uh, I didn't mean..."

"It's okay." Andromeda waved a hand at him in dismissal. "I know. And we _are_ rich—it's not wrong to say it." She looked thoughtfully at the last bit of wine in her goblet, and then drained it, and rose to her feet. "Come on, Luke."

"Where are we going?" He hurried to stand as she began to walk, and Jackson scrambled to follow.

"There's this silly dance my parents are making us do. You'll dance with me, won't you?"

"I...um...I mean, I don't really know how..."

"It's not hard. Don't worry." She smiled at him brilliantly and he felt the sudden assurance that dancing would not be difficult at all.

They had entered the dance floor and were approaching a group of students, among which were Andromeda's siblings, when one of the girls saw them (at a distance, Luke could not tell whether it was Psyche or Theia, and was not sure he would be able to tell even up close) and detached herself from the group, running over with bare feet and flying silks to seize Luke's hand.

"Dance with me!" she cried breathlessly, and then Luke knew that it was Theia.

"Um," he said, vaguely aware that he had had to stall for time several times already that evening, glancing at Andromeda. "Gee, Theia, that sounds great, but—"

"But _he_ was going to ask _you_," interrupted Andromeda, smiling again. "Really, Theia, you've got to be more patient."

Theia beamed at Luke, who was confused but willing to accept what Andromeda had said. He cleared his throat. "Theia, would you, uh, dance with me?"

"_Yes!_" she squealed, almost before he had finished the question. Her silk toga was pale green, and she wore a net of fine gold chain in her hair, but other than that, she was still very difficult to tell apart from her sisters. She cleared her throat, biting her lower lip delicately, and said, "I mean, yes, Luke, that would be nice."

"That's better," said an adult voice behind Luke, and he turned in surprise to see the quintuplets' mother watching them with a smile. Her artfully-arranged toga was soft white bordered with silver, her hair in an elaborate braided updo, and when she came closer and extended a hand to Luke, he caught again the scent of the same flowery perfume she had worn the first time he had seen the Day family, in Dragontooth Square. "I'm Linda Day," she said. "You must be Lucas."

She held out her hand not with the palm sideways, as Luke would have expected for a handshake, but with the palm down and fingers limply extended, and he was not sure how to react. He took her fingers awkwardly in his hand and bobbed his head, to which she responded with a smile. "Nice to meet you," he said.

"My girls speak highly of you, Lucas. Andi is very glad to share her classes with you."

"Oh, well, yeah, it's nice to...be with a friend."

The woman extended a white arm to touch Andromeda's hair. "My little rebel," she said in a tone of gentle teasing, and looked back at Luke. "The other four are all Phoenixes, you know. Two golds and two silvers, but all Phoenixes. Andi just had to be different."

"Mother," murmured Andromeda, but she did not look embarrassed. There was frank affection between mother and daughter, and it gave Luke a funny aching feeling somewhere behind his diaphragm. Andromeda glanced at him and he tried to compose himself quickly, but thought that she must have seen something in his face, because she immediately pulled Jackson forward. "Mother, this is Jack, Luke's foster brother."

"Ah, yes, Mister Lunsford's young relative. Lovely to meet you."

She gave Jackson a dazzling smile—her daughters could not yet produce such an effect, but Luke had a feeling that they were well on their way to that goal. "Now, girls," she said to her daughters, "have you found your partners? It's almost time for the dance, and then we can get to the cake."

"Luke has asked me," said Theia, threading her arm through his.

Mrs Day smiled. "And you, Andi?"

Luke saw the racing flashes behind Jackson's eyes that meant one of his instant decisions. The boy stepped forward and bowed again to Andromeda, then held out his hand. "Andi, I mean, Andromeda," he said, "will you dance with me?"

Theia giggled, but Andromeda smiled, and in that moment Luke thought she looked like a queen. She looked, in fact, rather like the woman she would become, grave and beautiful. "Yes, I'd love to," she said, and put her hand in his.

"Wonderful," said Mrs Day, and clapped her hands twice, sharply.

The lutes and lyres began a more sedate, flowing melody that reminded Luke of running water. The floor was cleared of everyone except the quintuplets and their dance partners, who shared bows (the Day children gracefully, their partners somewhat less so) and began to dance. It was nothing complicated, but Luke was gritting his teeth—even the simplest dance moves were opaque to him, and he was worried he would make a fool of himself and, by extension, Theia. But either he was more capable than he had suspected or Theia was an expert at guiding his movements—he suspected the latter—for the dance went very smoothly and by the end he was smiling.

"Wow," he said amidst the polite applause that followed. "That was fun. Thanks, Theia."

Theia bit her lip, smiling so hard her face looked about to split, and then leaned forward before Luke could think and kissed him on the cheek. The applause increased, joined by laughter and cheers, and Theia flounced off to join her siblings for the cake-cutting. Red in the face and unsure whether to be angry, embarrassed, pleased, or some combination of the three, Luke shouldered his way against the crowd that followed and went back to the circle of cushions where he had been earlier. It was deserted and he sat by himself. The massive cake was visible on the central staircase, and Principal Zander was making some sort of speech.

"Not interested in cake?"

Luke looked up and saw Doctor Lunsford, leaning against the wall in a long green toga. He almost smiled, and then with creeping horror he realized that he had forgotten what Lunsford had done to his brother; the anger swept through him again and he looked away quickly, concentrating on the cake—which was now being cut with five knives simultaneously, wielded by the beaming quintuplets—and did not move when Lunsford took a cushion beside him.

"Lucas, I'm sorry. I know that you're hurt by the situation with your brother. But you have to try to see our side of things. We're only trying to protect you, and everyone else here. Is that such a terrible thing?"

Luke pressed his lips together and said nothing. People were milling around eating cake and talking, and more widespread dancing had begun, mostly upper-term students and some faculty. Luke recognized the tall bespectacled man who had advised him to take Arithmancy dancing with Vice-Principal Redding, who was giggling uncontrollably as they swept around the floor. He also saw Doctor Yancey, who wore a toga of deep gold that left one shoulder bare. Without her usual high-heeled shoes she was surprisingly short.

Lunsford made some small sound in his throat and Luke shot him a curious, suspicious glance. But Lunsford wasn't looking at him; he was looking across the room, at Alice Yancey. Luke was on Lunsford's good side but the man's mouth was still pulled down, this time in a deep frown. Luke had recently become acquainted with desperation and thought he recognized it in Lunsford's eyes.

"Ask her to dance," he said.

Lunsford twitched and looked away. "I can't," was all he said.

"Why not? Are you chicken?" Luke was a little ashamed of the tone he was taking, but was helpless to stop himself.

"No," said Lunsford. "You don't understand. I can't."

"That's a stupid reason. No, wait, it's not even a reason at all." Lunsford looked at him sharply and with an effort, Luke managed to swallow hard and keep his voice down. He had almost been shouting. "That's your answer to everything, isn't it? 'Ask her to dance.' 'I can't.' 'Let my brother keep his memories.' 'I can't.' It's just _stupid_. Can't you _do_ anything?"

He could not remember ever feeling so angry, and he did not know how to deal with the confused, almost hurt look on Lunsford's face. It struck him as improper, an expression that no adult should ever wear, at least in front of children, and suddenly he had to get away; he stood up too quickly and nearly tripped on the hem of his robe, but kept his feet and hurried to the back doors. The greenhouses stood dark and silent in the seclusion of their meadow, and Luke was glad to leave the light and noise of White Hall behind. The moon had risen over the shoulder of the mountain and glinted silver on the twisted, irregular panes of glass that made up the greenhouse walls.

Luke walked randomly along the cobbled paths. He had the vague, uneasy feeling that he had been unfair, but when he tried to reason his way through that, his anger took over again until he was certain that he had been correct, but then the anger would ebb and the doubts would creep back in. Eventually he gave it up and sat down so that his back was leaning against one side of Greenhouse Four. The growing things inside made a pleasant susurrus and at last he was able to relax.

A memory from long ago hit him then, blinding-bright: his father taking him out into the field to show him where a killdeer was nesting. When they had gotten close enough, the mother bird had tried to distract them and lead them away from the nest by pretending to have a broken wing, but they had crept close enough to see the tiny speckled eggs. "Mamas always protect their babies," his father had said, and when they had gone back inside Luke had given his mother a hug—his mother with the crinkly lines by her eyes when she smiled, and the perfume that smelled like apples, and the scar on her arm where a fishhook had caught from one of Mark's first casts, and suddenly Luke was crying.

"I just want to go home," he said to the empty air, but the only reply was the growing certainty in his heart that he already was home.

"Lucas?"

Luke wiped his face hurriedly with the sleeve of his robe and stood, brushing off the dirt. It was Lunsford, standing some distance away but looking anxious. "What do you want?" asked Luke.

"I wanted to show you something," said Lunsford. "Will you come with me?"

Luke sighed, feeling too tired to refuse. "Fine."

Lunsford produced a ring of keys from one of his sleeves and opened the door to Greenhouse Four, and Luke followed him inside. It was larger than Greenhouse One where Luke had his Botany class, and was divided into sections, the contents of which were difficult to determine in the shadowy evening. Near the back there was a wall of cunningly-fitted stones, and its single door was crossed by half a dozen chains that glowed silver in the darkness. Lunsford took out his wand and tapped the point at which these chains crossed, speaking a quiet incantation or password that Luke did not hear, and did not try to hear. The chains relaxed and the door swung open.

The room was about ten feet square, and was entirely taken up with a tangled mass of sticks and straw. "What is it?" Luke asked after a moment.

"What does it look like?" returned Lunsford.

Luke swallowed his stubborn annoyance and looked again, and then he thought of the orioles that had nested in the big maple in their lawn. "I guess it looks like a nest," he said.

"Exactly." Lunsford smiled, and Luke realized that the man was excited. He stepped forward carefully onto part of the massive next and reached into a depression in its center, a sort of cave formed among the mess. What he retrieved looked immediately exotic: it reminded Luke of the props they had used for the gold, frankincense, and myrrh in his church's Christmas plays, an ornate and gilded container with a heavy hinged lid. Lunsford held it out and Luke took it gingerly. It felt warm in his hands.

"Do you know what you're holding?" said Lunsford.

"No," said Luke, forgetting his anger for the moment. "I thought it was going to be an egg, but this isn't an egg."

"Oh, but it is...sort of." Lunsford smiled again, and touched the lid of the container almost reverently. "This urn holds the ashes of a phoenix, Lucas. It was brought to Emerald Hill one hundred and eighty-four years ago, from Madagascar. We've been waiting and waiting for the time to be right, and all the signs say that this spring will be perfect—witches and wizards will come from all over the world to witness this. We're going to take the nest onto the mountainside and light it, and watch the birth of a phoenix."

Luke was awed. He sat on the side of the nest, which sank somewhat but held, and for a moment simply marveled, finally understanding the gentle heat that radiated through the metal and glass of the container. "I thought phoenixes were reborn right away. When the first one dies."

"Not always," said Lunsford, also taking a seat on the edge of the nest. "When the conditions aren't right, or there is danger or another reason to delay, the phoenix can lie dormant for a very long time. A sphinx warned the wizarding world of the existence of these ashes, and an expedition was sent to recover them before they were scattered, or destroyed, or found by Muggles. Wyoming was still very deserted back then, so the ashes were given into the safekeeping of Emerald Hill until the time came for the birth. No one expected it to take this long, of course, but these things are rarely predictable. Principal Zander himself was part of the committee that returned to the sphinxes last winter to consult with them, and they're quite certain that this spring is the time. Late March, or perhaps early April. Very few humans are privileged to witness such a thing, Lucas. We're very fortunate."

"How many of the students know?"

"None, yet. Principal Zander will be making the announcement when everyone returns from Christmas break."

Luke looked up. "Why are you showing it to me, then?"

Lunsford continued looking at the urn, his eyes distant. "Sometimes the things we hope for are like this phoenix. They have to be put aside in a safe place until the right time comes for them to be given life. You hope for a world in which Mark, even though he's not a wizard, can at least share these experiences through your letters, as any brother would want to do. We all hope for that. But while Voldemort lives, that world cannot be. If we tried to create that world now, it would be destroyed. We have to keep it in our hearts, and keep waiting until the conditions are right. The time will come, Lucas. But that time is not here yet."

Luke laid his hands on the sides of the urn and bowed his head, fighting against fresh tears. But when Lunsford reached out and touched his shoulder, he tightened instinctively.

"Please forgive me," the man said quietly. "This was not done to hurt you."

Luke stood and put the urn on Lunsford's lap. "I can't," he said, and walked away.

* * *

He meant to leave the party unnoticed, but Andromeda stopped him; she was smiling until she saw his face. "What's wrong?"

Luke forced a smile. "Nothing. I'm fine. This is a great party."

"Thanks." She looked at him for a moment, and then recovered her cheer and held out her wrist, where the charm bracelet Luke had chosen tinkled musically. "It's beautiful!" she said. "You even put a little fox on there, because we're both Kitsune, right?"

"Yeah." Andromeda's had been the only bracelet Luke had been able to personalize to any degree; he knew very little about the other two girls. "I'm glad you like it."

"I really do." She bit her lip, twisting her fingers together. "Are you _sure_ you're alright? You look upset."

She looked so concerned that Luke almost spilled the story of his encounter with Lunsford, right there in the center of crowded White Hall. He was not sure what restrained him—propriety, perhaps, not wanting to ruin her birthday, or maybe shame for what he had done, which was already creeping in through his haze of self-righteousness. But after an awkward hesitation he simply said, "Happy birthday," and left. It took him nearly ten minutes to dig his shoes out of the enormous pile.

* * *

That night he dreamed of standing beside a bonfire and watching wings of flame rise into the sky. When he woke up, his cheeks were wet.


	13. Thirteen

"That's the stupidest costume I ever heard of."

"I don't care. It's going to be great."

"What are you gonna do, hang vines all over yourself?"

"_No_. Don't be obtuse."

"Blah blah blah, Miss Big-Words."

"Hey, knock it off," said Luke, "I'm trying to research."

"You already know everything about dinosaurs." Jackson half-sprawled across the table to pull down the top of Luke's book so that he could see the pages, which showed a detailed drawing of a Stegosaurus. "Why do you need to research?"

"I have to decide which one I want to be. It's hard."

"Oh come ion/I, Luke, I already said we should be Peachy Carnehan and Daniel Dravot. You can even be Daniel Dravot, and wear a crown and stuff!"

"But no one would know who we were. We'd have to explain it all night, and I hate that."

"That's not true, everyone on the plane from New York saw the movie."

"Okay, so all the first-terms know who we are and all the upper-terms make fun of us all night. That sounds great."

"Fine. You be the Stego-whatsus and I'll be the T-Rex, and I'll jump out at you all night and take bites out of your costume."

"Here!" said Theia, rather breathless as she and Psyche walked over with armfuls of books, and dumped them across the table. "These have a bunch of drawings and photos, Andi."

"Hey!" cried Jackson, retrieving his Botany notes from under the pile.

Luke smiled and returned to studying the Stegosaurus page. They were in the third basement level of the Agramatha Memorial Library, reading by the light of skull-sized globes of light that were charmed to follow the students, waiting in a cluster to either side of the main doors and jostling eagerly for position when anyone entered. The general lighting was rather dim, but the brightness of the globes could be adjusted by voice commands. It was mid-October and the main topic on everyone's mind was Halloween costumes. Emerald Hill loved holidays, and for Halloween the entire campus would be decorated, and there would be a haunted trail in the underground tunnels staffed by teachers in scary costumes, not to mention lots and lots of candy. It was a point of honor among students to create unique and elaborate costumes.

Andromeda, Theia, and Psyche planned to dress as different flowers, and began at once to pore through the books to find just the right blooms. Luke watched them for a moment over the top edge of his book, and marveled anew at how very much alike they looked. The shadows from their globe lights were such that he could not see the mole on Andromeda's cheek by which he usually identified her, and suddenly he couldn't remember whether she had been sitting on the left or right, or in the middle. It was a strange feeling, like the optical illusions he had seen where the picture looks like one thing but could also be seen as another, and how you could only see either one thing or the other but never both at the same time. He shook his head and returned to his diagrams of dinosaurs, which seemed much more comprehensible than the giggling of girls.

"Are you _sure_ you don't want to do Daniel Dravot and Peachy Carnehan?" asked Jackson.

Luke put down his book, and had to laugh at Jackson's shred of hope. "Okay, okay, _fine_," he said. "But I'm Daniel Dravot."

"Yes! Okay! I'm gonna wear the red coat with the buttons. Oh, and a fake rifle! Should I make one or could we find it in Red River?"

"I bet they have one in the theater department," said one of the three identical girls; Luke had no idea which. "Probably even and old British military coat like you're talking about. You should go check."

"Okay! Thanks, Psyche!" Jackson was on his feet and tugging at Luke's arm before Luke had even stacked the books on dinosaurs he had taken from the shelves. The two globes of light that had claimed the boys at the entrance zipped along behind their shoulders as they ran down the corridors created by the twenty-foot shelves, dodging in and out among the other students. The library was entirely underground, four stories that stretched beneath the mountain; even its main entrance was in one of the tunnels that branched off beneath White Hall. They had been on the third floor down and rode the elevator—charmed, not mechanical—to the entrance level.

"How did you know that was Psyche?" Luke asked once they were on the elevator and he could catch his breath.

Jackson shrugged, shifting impatiently from one foot to the other. "Because it was."

"Yeah, but how can you tell them apart? They even _sound_ the same."

"Luke, man, you just gotta pay attention!"

And then they were at the entrance and Jackson was running again. Luke hitched up his bag on his shoulder and jogged along behind. He felt he had as much energy as any other eleven-year-old, but Jackson was in another league entirely; he seemed to radiate excess energy, and having to be still for any length of time nearly made him burst. Luke wondered how Jackson managed to sit through any of his classes.

The theater department had its own building and looked like a miniature version of White Hall, two wings on either side of a central hub. But here the central hub was an open-air auditorium, partially sunk into the ground, and hunched up against the side of the mountain basin to help with acoustics. It could only house a fraction of the student body at a time—the theater department was neither large nor popular, and notoriously not very good—but the columns were made of bronze-bound cedar and the seats were carved directly from the stone bowl of the mountain, and it looked impressive.

Backstage was a cave in the mountainside, and the harried-looking theater director was rushing back and forth in an attempt to control, or at least organize, the dozens of other students who had also had the idea to raid the theater for costume supplies. "You too?" he said, spying Luke and Jackson at the stage entrance, and then simply waved them on.

But the director had obviously been at least somewhat prepared for the onslaught, because the costumes and materials were lined up in a maze of racks lit by fitful, half-hearted glow charms. The cavern-like space was abuzz with eager exclamations and the metal-on-metal grate of the hangers moving on the racks, and Luke took a moment to marvel at the sheer variety laid out before them: a lacy wedding dress beside a hairy gorilla suit, velvet capes and cheesecloth ghosts and white doctor's smocks, five shelves of rubber masks and a pile of plastic weapons from fencing rapiers to futuristic laser-guns. He grinned; he couldn't help it. The place had an air of secrecy, almost intimacy; it smelled of dust and sweat and old wood, and another darker, musky odor that Luke could not identify. He liked the place, but it made him feel like an intruder.

Jackson at once marched confidently into racks, craning his neck and hopping to see over to the next row. "You've been here before?" asked Luke, ducking under a cape that an upper-term student swirled out from the rack with enthusiasm.

"Sure," said Jackson, his voice muffled as he half-burrowed his way between a puffy pirate-style shirt and leather cowboy chaps. "Don't you ever explore?"

"No," said Luke, amused. "I study."

"Oh. Well, that's important, too. Hey, go look over there and see if you can find a white robe like Daniel Dravot wore when he was king."

Luke wandered aimlessly—there must be _some_ sort of order to the racks, he felt sure, though he couldn't see it and soon gave up trying. Before long he had an armful of white robes that would work well for a Daniel Dravot costume, though he would have to pin up the hem and sleeves, and was hunting for additions to the outfit when he reached the back corner of the labyrinth and saw the ladder.

It was made of crudely-nailed two-by-fours and looked old and unreliable, leading up to a loft space whose plywood floor was rotted through in several places visible from below. It gave off the impression of being both dangerous and off-limits, and therefore Luke had the immediate urge to climb the ladder. Perhaps it was Jackson's unintentional jab about Luke never exploring, or perhaps it was the inclination to sneak and trespass inherent in all young and adolescent boys; Luke didn't think to question it, and wouldn't have known the answer anyway. He stacked the white robes on the floor and edged over to the ladder, poking it experimentally with the toe of his shoe and then shaking it lightly to test its stability. When he was vaguely confident that it wouldn't collapse into dust under his weight, and when everyone visible was otherwise distracted, he made his move.

He was a strong climber, having practiced on trees for as long as he could remember, and his sneakers were quiet on the old two-by-fours. The plywood floor of the loft was moldy and precariously soft, but that also meant that it would not creak, and as long as he was careful about the rotted areas Luke did not think he would be perceived. He was wearing his dark grey Emerald Hill robe, and the only lighting in the loft was whatever flicker the glow charms sent up from the racks below. His class had learned in Charms earlier in the week the word to make the tips of their wands glow, but a light would attract attention. Instead Luke turned his back on the glow charms and opened his eyes wide, waiting for them to adjust to the shadows.

He was disappointed at first—the loft space was no more than twenty feet square, and there were only a few boxes. In one corner, however, was a stack of wooden crates much older than the mold-speckled cardboard, and he began to make his slow careful way across the pitted floor, testing each step. The crates contained nothing that Luke could not have found among the racks and piles below: elbow-length leather gloves, a pair of hobnailed boots, a dusty bouquet of paper flowers, and so on.

The final crate had a fine layer of gritty dust on the top, and when Luke brushed at it with his hand, it gave him pause. It felt like finely crumbled stone. The edge of the loft abutted the raw wall of the mountain in which the backstage space was carved, and he put his hand against the stone, tracing a pattern of lichen with a finger. It drew his eyes upward, and then he saw it, old and worn but still clear—a carved foothold in the rock wall.

He stood and reached upward as high as his arms would reach into the gloom, and felt another foothold, and a third, a rough ladder leading upward. His heart beat faster. Glancing behind, he felt he was far enough from the edge of the loft that no one might notice a little light, and so he drew his wand out of the pocket sewn into the sleeve of his robe and held the tip close to his mouth. "_Lumos_," he whispered, and the wand responded with a soft and cheery glow. Raising it high, Luke could see that there were fifteen or twenty niches carved in the stone, and above them was a shadowy smudge, a cave opening about six feet high and ten wide.

The wall was vertical and he ended up having to hold the lit wand in his teeth, needing all of his fingers to cling to the footholds. Halfway up his hand disturbed a spider and he nearly cried out, jerking back his arm, and had to rest for a moment, breathing deeply to calm himself before continuing. The cave at the top turned out to be fairly shallow, only about twenty feet deep, but the cobwebs told Luke that no one had been up here for some time, and he felt the thrill of a pioneer as he knelt in the entrance. He was a great explorer, challenging the unknown as he held his torch aloft. For a moment he _was_ Daniel Dravot, peering into the treasure trove of the Kafiri priests, and his imagination made the cavelet glow with chests of golden coins and massive uncut gems.

Then he blinked, and he was a ten-year-old boy in the dusty attic of a theater, and the cave's only contents were several more of the wooden crates he had found below the ladder. Luke crawled forward and pried open the lid of the first crate; it came up easily, the nails pulling out of the time-softened wood. The crate was filled with packing straw and his fingertips buzzed with excitement, wondering what would be inside. In a place like this, it had to be something—well, something magical. That made him smile and he plunged an arm into the straw, pulling it aside to reveal . . . .

Luke frowned, and leaned closer, angling his wand to get a better view. Another swipe of the straw, and suddenly his stomach clenched and muscles spasmed and then he _did_ cry out in horror and revulsion, for beneath the packing straw was a severed head, its empty eye sockets filled with blood.

* * *

The theater director was a stout man with nut-brown skin and flyaway hair of steel grey, with little round spectacles that he was constantly readjusting on his nose. His name—as Luke learned from Doctor Abernathy's constant, irritated repetition—was Hendricks. "Hendricks," said the Defense teacher, "sit down before you have a stroke."

"_Trespassing!_" bellowed Hendricks, who had the rolling baritone of a one-time performer. "A heinous crime! No excuse!"

"Was there a sign on the ladder?" asked Abernathy, arms folded over his narrow ribs. "A velvet rope to cordon off the area? Something, anything, that was perhaps removed before I arrived? I certainly see nothing there now."

Hendricks sputtered for a moment, casting darting glances around the area as though certain he would find something if he just kept looking. Finally—as Abernathy seemed to actually require an answer—the theater director was forced to answer, "No. But—"

"Then this was nothing more than harmless exploration. It's his first year, Hendricks, he's never been back here before. If you had no sign and gave no verbal rules against it, he had no reason not to climb the ladder." Abernathy toed one of the rungs, which had broken beneath his weight when he had climbed to the attic platform. "Beyond plain common sense, that is."

Luke did not much enjoy being spoken of as though he were not in the room, but he knew better than to speak up when a senior professor was defending him. He was perched on the edge of a costume trunk, jittering his knees nervously and wishing that Jackson had been allowed to stay; the rest of the students in the backstage area had been cleared out for Abernathy's investigation. Luke had been ashamed when Abernathy had returned from the attic, one of the crates hovering along beside him as he directed it with a wand, and the severed head had been revealed to be only a mask. It was a remarkably detailed mask, to be fair, and he thought that the hair attached to it had come from a human, but the face itself was ceramic, and the bloody eye sockets were nothing more than bubbles of wire netting painted red.

It was a mask made to look like the head of a sphinx. The nose was broad and flat, almost feline, the almond-shaped eyes set wide above sharp cheekbones. Whiskers made of stiff wire jutted out from rounded pads in the upper lip and beside the temples, and the human-looking hair that made a widow's peak on the forehead was long and black, with leonine ears made of leather sticking out. There were other masks, and further accoutrements in the other crates to complete each costume: one for each of the totem animals of Emerald Hill.

Muttering to himself, Hendricks lifted the unicorn mask and began polishing the horn—which looked to be made from solid mother-of-pearl—on a sleeve of his robes. Abernathy lifted the sphinx mask and grunted. "Artistic license," he said to no one in particular. "Sphinxes have black eyes."

Now that the worst of it was over and it didn't look like Luke was going to get in any trouble, he dared to speak. "Sir," he said to Doctor Abernathy, "what are these costumes for?"

"Ceremonial," said Abernathy. "Used to welcome the spirits to the school back when the Heart Ring was installed. I've heard about them—apparently they used to pull them out every year for graduation. But that hasn't been done in a long time. Didn't know they were still here."

"Of _course_ they're still here," said Hendricks, glaring at them both. "They're antiques. Very delicate."

"Oh." Luke was disappointed. "I . . . sort of wanted to wear one for Halloween."

Both the professors looked at him them, and Abernathy gave a wry half-smile. "Let me guess," he said, eyeing the badge on Luke's robes. "The kitsune."

"Well, yeah."

"_Out_ of the question!" roared Hendricks.

"For once, I must agree with my colleague," said Abernathy. "These are special, oh, what's-your-name, Baxter. But they probably deserve better than sitting in boxes in a cave. Maybe we'll have them cleaned and put on display in White Hall."

"I, of course, will oversee the process." Hendricks puffed out his barrel of a chest. "We'll need special brushes, and touch-up paint, and combs for the fur . . ."

"After, of course, you get permission from Zander."

"Well, yes, of course, that goes without saying. We'll start with the dragon, it's the largest, one whole crate to itself . . ."

Abernathy put a hand on Luke's shoulder and steered him toward the exit, while Hendricks, entirely mollified by the idea of such a project, went on talking to himself. "You shouldn't have done it, anyway," he said as they walked.

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

"Not good enough. Look, Baxter, if you're going to be a rule-breaker, you'd better be smart enough not to get caught. You may not be cut out for that sort of tenure here."

"Well, I, uh, I didn't mean to—"

"Get caught, and there are consequences." Abernathy stopped just short of the double doors that led outside, and faced Luke. "Steer clear of the theater department for the rest of the semester, Baxter. That's official."

"Oh. Yes, sir. But—"

"Furthermore, if you're caught in an off-limits area again this term—and it _was_ off-limits and you knew it, even if there was no sign—if you're caught again, you'll be put on two weeks' in-house suspension. Confined to your dorm. Understood?"

Luke tightened his jaw. Why did he feel like crying? Stupid—something a baby would do. "Yes, sir."

Abernathy leaned in close, his beak-like nose inches from Luke's own. Beneath bushy red eyebrows, his eyes were a faded blue. "So if you plan to live a life of crime, do us all a favor and _don't . . . get . . . caught._"

Luke said nothing—would agreeing be an admission that he wanted to be a criminal? But without another word, Abernathy flung open the doors and descended the steps. The students crowded there parted before him like the Red Sea before Moses, and he did not so much as glance at them.

"What happened?" Jackson came pushing through the crowd, his arms full of white robes, a red jacket, boots, and a plastic rifle. The rest of the students began to filter back in to the theater to continue looking for their costumes (and, dimly, Luke could hear Hendricks squawking at them to keep back, keep back). "Are you in trouble?"

"Banned from the theater for the rest of the semester."

Jackson grinned. "Atta boy."

* * *

"So you thought Hendricks was some sort of murderer? Or maybe You-Know-Who dropped off some luggage?" Julian Tate, another first-term sky kitsune, pushed his goggles up onto his forehead, smirking. He had very dark skin that made his teeth look even whiter.

"I don't know," said Luke, pulling a swim fin onto his left foot. It all sounded silly now, in the bright afternoon. His Botany class was going snorkeling in the pond to harvest gillyweed, and Doctor Danderben was gabbling excitedly as he stood at the end of the dock, wearing a full-body bathing suit of garish red and white stripes. It made him look like a candy cane. "It was dark up there. I only had my wand for light."

"I wish I could have seen them." Andromeda had her elbows resting on the dock, and kicked her legs languidly in the water. "They sound beautiful."

"Well, I guess Hendricks is gonna fix them up and display them in White Hall. They were great—the best costumes I've ever seen. But if they were used back when the school opened, they must be really old."

"Over three _hundred_ years old," said Julian before hopping off the side of the dock, splashing Luke and Andromeda thoroughly, making Luke wince. He thought it was a little late in the year for outdoor swimming, but Danderben had been dismissive when another student had suggested as much. "Nonsense. It's good for you!" the little man had cried. "Puts hair on your chest!" The only thing this water was putting on Luke's chest was goosebumps.

"Come on, now, everyone in the water!" the teacher was shouting. With a smile and a wave, Andromeda ducked below the surface and kicked her way under the dock to the far side. Luke adjusted the goggles over his eyes, plugged his nose, and slipped off the dock.

The shock of cold gripped him like a giant's fist around his torso, but after a few moments of careful treading he felt the blood flow in his arms and legs return to normal. Popping the snorkel into his mouth, he plunged his face into the water and floated on his stomach, letting his eyes follow the beams of sunlight down into the murky green depths. Swimming was a kind of flying, he thought, and one that he was actually good at. There had been a pond on their property in North Carolina, and he and Mark had spent hours of every warm day paddling around in Mark's hand-carved canoe or seeing who could stay underwater the longest, a game that had often driven their mother to panic.

With a little bag of woven reeds slung around his arm, Luke easily dove to the bottom where the gillyweed was cultivated and plucked the slimy baseball-sized clumps from their stems. At the end of the session Doctor Danderben praised him for gathering the most, and the sting of Abernathy's unexpected punishment finally faded. Who needed to go into the theater department, anyway? After all, Jackson had already collected everything they needed for their costumes.

But Luke never forgot the thrill of the discovery of the cave, nor the fright of first seeing the sphinx mask. Even in the revealing light of the backstage area, held safely in Abernathy's hands, the detailed masks still looked like severed heads to him.


End file.
